A Poop Under the Crown

Thirty years ago, comic books promised a world without trash and mess, but London's sidewalks had a completely different lesson in store.

In my childhood, I used to read a lot of comic books - I remember how Donald Duck threw a banana peel on the sidewalk and a vigilant policeman instantly slapped him with a fine. I thought then, "Wow, what a standard!"

That is how my belief in a Western utopia was formed, where people don't litter, don't poop, where total mutual respect reigns, and the sun always shines.

Thirty years have passed...

This morning, after dropping the kids off at school, I was walking back home, staring at my phone, and carelessly stepped into contact with reality.

You have to walk around London constantly scanning the safety of the route beneath your feet. Especially in residential areas - like mine. It's dangerous to walk here at night. Not because of robbers and murderers, but because of the squishy things treacherously waiting under the cover of night. If I set aside a pound every time I stepped in 💩, I would have saved up for a mortgage deposit long ago.

Not so long ago on our street, a monster left a two-kilo monument right in front of a neighbor's gate (three doors down from ours). And it so happened that we have to walk this route every day, performing complex maneuvers, often crossing to the other side of the street.

It lay there for three months. It was indifferent to the London heat, heavy rains, and hurricanes. The occasional street cleaners gave it a wide berth. Local foxes were frightened by it, whining pitifully in the dark. Neighbors treated it with respect.

Only a child's bicycle stubbornly tried to run its wheel into it, ignoring two meters of free space on both sides.

When the pile finally dissolved into oblivion, I breathed a sigh of relief. You have no idea how this can affect your quality and standard of living. Two days later, the pile returned to practically the exact same spot - apparently, a curse has been placed on the neighbors.

I see dog owners diligently picking up after their pets into a bag and tenderly hiding it in their pockets. I have yet to catch red-handed the scoundrels who calmly walk away. But some terrorists are conducting coordinated drops in the middle of the streets, mining the city.

So yeah, everything I saw in the comic book was nonsense.

Two dragons proudly adorn the coat of arms of the City of London. On the coat of arms of Greater London, I would place a poop under a crown, majestically bobbing on the waves of the Thames.