instances of antisocial behaviour, as they need to be updated so frequently, some kind of wikipedia article might be more appropriate.
This weekend for example, he ran into the field behind Boslowick shops (called, appropriately 'Boslowick Field'), sourced a discarded pair of knickers and ate them.
'I'm hoping they'll work their way through and come out in one go,' said my mother worriedly.
I'm beginning to wonder if your more orthodox Muslims might have a point about the woofies, and the disgustingness therof. I shall have to re-read my copy of the Koran, and see if it has any helpful tips.
I'm still wondering, of course, how the knickers got there in the first place. Boslowick Field, being about five minutes from where I grew up is, I can attest from personal experience, comprised of equal parts yellow grass, crisp packets and dogshit (not from my mother's dog, oddly enough he only poos flowers), and is not somewhere you would go for any kind of romantic assignation. Mind you, I haven't been there for a while, Falmouth has poshed up a bit of late:
EXT - BOSLOWICK FIELD, DAY.
TILLY and JONTY are enjoying a picnic, nibbling neatly at tiny sandwiches with the crusts removed.
Then: a strong gust of wind.
TILLY: My pants! My wonderful pants!
TILLY: That strong gust of wind appears to have blown my pants completely off!
JONTY: My darling, I shall retrieve them!
Jonty chases after the unmentionables as they are whipped about by a playful summer zephyr. Tilly, ameliorated by the sudden burst of fresh air, makes some notes for a modern dance piece, which will be later performed to great acclaim at the annual Rumours Winebar Arts Revue.
Jonty returns, empinkened by his activities, but ultimately empty-handed.
JONTY: My darling, I have failed you. I'm afraid you must proceed with the picnic at least partially en déshabillé*, as t'were. Would it help if I too, were to remove my undercrackers and hurl them towards the gazebo?
TILLY: No, sweetie-pumpkin, although your offer moves me terribly.
They gaze into each others' cornflower-blue eyes and kiss sweetly, until Tilly suddenly wrinkles her pretty nose.
JONTY: My darling?
TILLY: You appear to have stepped in some flowers.
* spelling corrected by patroclus, who must be more righterer than dictionary.com, as her version has more pokey bits above the letters, and she has a house in France ('en house') which is good enough for me.