As pointed out by Polly Toynbee, by way of minifig. Paul Dacre is a horrid, worrying little man.
That said, for the last week my opinions appear to have sponsored by middle-england.
On bonfire night a firework was thrown into my front garden; mildly alarming me and terrifying the kittens. Then over the weekend my back gate was kicked in.
What annoys me about these (barely) crimes is the pointlessness of both - the lad who threw the firework was alone and (from my dim remembrances of the joy of teenage gangs) could not have gained all that much pleasure without a few others to egg him on and, on breaking down my gate, the person who did it could easily have broken in (to my very flimsy conservatory) but chose instead to simply leave it in tatters.
The best conclusion I can draw is that these people have nothing better to do with their time..mindless youth...what kind of society etc. etc.
Incidentally, this segues nicely into themarpleleaf's story about fare dodgers on the train to London which he recounted to me with the comment "it's these types from Levenshulme, you know". The cheek!