Walking down St. John's Road, I came across a guy leaning over his front fence. He had a face that bore a look of permanent disdain perhaps, but with now more reason for scowling disgustedly at the footpath in front of him. 'Look at this', he said, 'Some burke has trodden in road paint and walked it right down the road.' I looked. He shook his head. Yes, there were splotches of white paint in the shape of a shoe all the way down to Wentworth Park.
'In a way you're lucky,' I said, trying to make light of it. 'He's more likely to have stepped in dog shit on footpaths around here.'
'Oh my god!' said the scowler, his face turning to horror 'and what if it was with his other foot?' He arched back from his fence: 'Left right, left right, brown white, brown white all the way downhill!'
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