There’s a street in our town that’s under siege. Here’s what you see when you turn the corner. 

And as you walk down the street, the signs quickly get more weird. I’m going to do what they do online to keep you reading…

…because you won’t believe the last one.


Ignoring all the normal ones, here’s a homemade-looking one attached to a gate, a quarter of the way down the street.

The sign implies that I have to stand behind Norman during the deed and wait for the poo to drop out and catch it. Clearly shell-shock and battled-hardened, the resident doesn’t want the poo to touch the ground anywhere near their property. Fair enough, I’ve practiced but can’t get it right, and it gets so messy I end up putting myself in the poobag as well.

Look at this one:

This resident realises that dogs can’t actually read English, so provides a translation. Norman proofread it and says the grammar’s all wrong.

 This one, put up by the council, is creepy

But it’s a great idea to employ serial killers to rid the streets of plop. 

I may have slightly altered this next one, but by the time I’m halfway down the street, I’m getting paranoid.

This is specialist poo monitoring equipment fitted with irresponsible dog owner missiles.

After half way, there’s bad language, so look away if you don’t like that sort of thing.

And, if I make it to the end of the street, there’s the last two signs. We’re getting to the one that really scares me, it’s just to the left of this, on the same property.

I stopped and took this photo just for you (and to get a good ending to this email.)

Surely it’s the man who owns these eyes that lives here

So if you don’t get a newsletter next week, it was him.

I’m not going down there again, Norman can poo in a street that appreciates it.

11 August 2023 – The Street of Signs

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