I am not of course in any way convinced by this pathetic, half-cocked hodge-podge of explanations. In answer to a) I say that other dog owners are completely within their rights to allow their dogs to defecate responsibly on the moor. They have the law on their side. It is a perfectly legitimate and natural way to proceed. In answer to b) I say that the volume of excrement on the moor is rarely, if ever in my extensive experience of these matters excessive (especially given the general rate of decomposition etc.). In answer to c) I say that it strikes me as rather odd that the same person who can apparently manage to bag up huge quantities of excrement when their fingers are ahem spasming65 is somehow unable to perform that superficially much less arduous act of transporting it back home with them!66
Many of TPs bags lie around on the moor for months on end and no visible attempt is made to move them. Last Thursday, for example, I counted over forty-two bags of excrement dotted randomly about the place on my morning stroll. Sometimes I come across a bag displayed in the most extraordinary of places. Yesterday I found one dangling up high in the midst of a thorny bush. It was very obvious that not only would the person who hung the bag there have been forced to sustain some kind of injury in its display (unless they wore a thick pair of protective gloves), but that so would the poor soul (and heres the rub!) who felt duty-bound to retrieve it and dispose of it.67 This was, in effect, a piece of purely spiteful behaviour little less, in fact, than an act of social/ environmental terrorism.
Many of TPs bags lie around on the moor for months on end and no visible attempt is made to move them. Last Thursday, for example, I counted over forty-two bags of excrement dotted randomly about the place on my morning stroll. Sometimes I come across a bag displayed in the most extraordinary of places. Yesterday I found one dangling up high in the midst of a thorny bush. It was very obvious that not only would the person who hung the bag there have been forced to sustain some kind of injury in its display (unless they wore a thick pair of protective gloves), but that so would the poor soul (and heres the rub!) who felt duty-bound to retrieve it and dispose of it.67 This was, in effect, a piece of purely spiteful behaviour little less, in fact, than an act of social/ environmental terrorism.
Shoshana and I have both become so sickened, angered and dismayed by the awful mess TP has made of our local area (I mean who is to judge when an activity such as this passes from being in the public interest68 to a plain and simple public nuisance?69) that, in sheer desperation, we have begun to gather up the rotten bags ourselves.
On Friday, two weeks back70, Shoshana gathered up over thirty-six bags. On her way home exhausted from the villages poop-scoop bins71 she tripped on a crack in the pavement, fell heavily, sprained her wrist and dislocated her collarbone. 72 I will not say that we blame TP entirely for this calamity, but we do hold her at least partially responsible.73
After Shoshanas accident I marched over to TPs bungalow, fully intent on having it out with her,74 but TP (rather fortuitously) was nowhere to be found. It was then as I stood impotently in her front garden, seething with frustration that I resolved75 to take the opportunity to do a little private investigation of my own. If you remember,76 TP had claimed that many if not most of the bags of excrement she retrieved from the moor, she automatically carried back home with her (only leaving the unmanageable excess behind) and placed them, double-wrapped, into her dustbin (alongside what I imagine would be the considerable quantities of excrement collected from her own four, chronically obese dogs which as you know she keeps penned up, 24/7,77 inside that criminally small and claustrophobic, purpose-built concrete compound78).
The day I visited Hursley End was a Monday, which is the day directly before refuse is collected in the village. I decided God only knows why, it was just a random urge, I suppose to peek inside her dustbin (literally deafened as I did so by the hysterical barks and howls of her four frantic German shepherds). By my calculation, I estimated that there would need to be at least forty-two dog faeces from her own four animals stored away inside there.79 In addition to these I also envisaged a considerable number of stools collected from her nightly hikes on the filthy moor.80
Once Id made these quick calculations I steeled myself, drew a deep breath, grabbed the lid, lifted it high and peered querulously inside. Imagine my great surprise when I found not a single trace of excrement within! The bin was all but empty! I say again: the bin TPs bin was all but empty!! I quickly pulled on a pair of disposable gloves81 and then gingerly withdrew the bins other contents, piece by piece (just so as to be absolutely certain of my facts). I removed two large, empty Johnnie Walker bottles,82 four family-size Marks and Spencer coleslaw containers, three packets of mint and one packet of hazelnut-flavoured Cadburys Snaps biscuit wrappers, and the stinking remnants of two boil-in-the-bag fish dinners (Iceland) and one, ready-made, prawn biryani meal (from Tescos excellent Finest range).
I stared blankly into that bin for several minutes, utterly confounded, struggling to make any sense of what Id discovered. It then slowly dawned on me that TP might actually have two bins one of which was specifically to be used for the storing of excrement. Bearing this in mind, I set about searching the untended grounds of her property83 with a fine-tooth comb,84 even going so far as to climb on to an upturned bucket and peer, trepidatiously, into the tiny concrete compound to the rear, where TPs four German shepherds barked and raced around like a group of hairy, overweight banshees frantic with what seemed to be a poignant combination of terror and excitement.85
No matter how hard I hunted, a second bin could not be found. I eventually abandoned my search on realizing how late it had grown;86 Shoshana would definitely be worried, I thought, and if I tarried any longer I could be in serious danger of missing Countdown.87 I left Hursley End, depressed and confused, only turning with a helpless half-shrug to peer back over towards the property once Id reached the relative safety of the road beyond. It was then, in a blinding flash, that I had what I now refer to somewhat vaingloriously, Ill admit as my Moment of Epiphany.88
As I looked back at TPs property from a greater distance, I was able with the benefit of perspective to observe that recent renovation works to the bungalow had resulted in the temporary removal of large sections of the external fascia,89 so that all that now remained of the propertys original structure was the roof, the window frames and a series of basic, internal walls and supports, many of which had been copiously wrapped in thick layers of protective plastic (to safeguard the property against the worst of the weather, I suppose). By dint of this expedient, I suddenly realized with a sharp gasp, TPs home had lately been transformed (voluntarily or otherwise) into a giant simulacrum of a monstrous, semi-transparent poo-bag!90
As this admittedly strange and somewhat hysterical thought caught a hold of me, a second thought,91 running almost in tandem with it, quickly overtook my mind: if no evidence of excrement could be found in TPs garden not even faeces from her own four dogs then where on Gods earth might it actually be?
What?!
I suddenly froze.
MARY, MOTHER OF JESUS! I bellowed, then quickly covered my mouth with my hand.92 But wasnt it obvious?! Hadnt the simple answer to this most perplexing of questions been staring me in the face all along?!
The moor!
Our beautiful, unbesmirched, virgin moor!
TP had not as shed always emphatically maintained been piously and dutifully collecting/bagging excrement left by other, irresponsible dog owners, during those long, dark, nightly hikes of hers. Oh no! Quite the opposite, in fact! TP had actually been carefully bagging prodigious quantities of HER OWN FOUR DOGS EXCREMENT and then CHEERFULLY FESTOONING THE LOCAL FOOTPATHS WITH IT!!!
Good Lord! I can almost hear you howl, your smooth, firm cheeks flushed pink with rage and indignation. But but why?
Im afraid that this is a question which for all of my age and experience I cannot answer. I can only imagine that TP must derive some sick and perverse feeling of excitement/ gratification from performing this debased act. Perhaps it is an entirely sexual impulse, or maybe she has some deep yet inexplicable grudge against the people of Burley Cross which she is acting out through this strange and depraved pastime. Or perhaps the good people of this village have unwittingly come to represent something (or someone) to TP from her tragic past and she feels the uncontrollable urge to punish/ insult/degrade us all as a consequence of that. Or maybe just maybe a whole host of entirely different impulses are at play here. Shoshana had the fascinating idea that as a small child TP mightve developed issues during her anal phase93 brought on by an overly strict and prohibitive potty-training regimen. She discussed this idea with a neighbour of ours who might properly be called an expert in the field, and they explained to her at some length how as children we have an innocent, perfectly natural conception of our own faeces as a kind of gift94 which we generously share with our parents.
Good Lord! I can almost hear you howl, your smooth, firm cheeks flushed pink with rage and indignation. But but why?
Im afraid that this is a question which for all of my age and experience I cannot answer. I can only imagine that TP must derive some sick and perverse feeling of excitement/ gratification from performing this debased act. Perhaps it is an entirely sexual impulse, or maybe she has some deep yet inexplicable grudge against the people of Burley Cross which she is acting out through this strange and depraved pastime. Or perhaps the good people of this village have unwittingly come to represent something (or someone) to TP from her tragic past and she feels the uncontrollable urge to punish/ insult/degrade us all as a consequence of that. Or maybe just maybe a whole host of entirely different impulses are at play here. Shoshana had the fascinating idea that as a small child TP mightve developed issues during her anal phase93 brought on by an overly strict and prohibitive potty-training regimen. She discussed this idea with a neighbour of ours who might properly be called an expert in the field, and they explained to her at some length how as children we have an innocent, perfectly natural conception of our own faeces as a kind of gift94 which we generously share with our parents.