What a Load of Rubbish Read Online Free Page B

him to whip out his broom and pooperscooper from his barrow, plus or minus three seconds forwind resistance. If this isn’t more than adequate use of my scientific and mathematical skills, thought Malcolm, I don’t know what is.
    He snatched his equipment from the barrow and set out at a flat run – covering the distance across the street with only a flea’s breath to spare.
    He reached the man just as he was about to plunge his foot into the odorous ooze, then, performing a dainty half-pirouette that would have left many a professional ballet dancer speechless. An action which prevented the gent from transferring his weight onto his forward foot – an act which would have carried the man GLITCH into the putrid poo. Then our Malcolm slid the pooperscooper into position and with a slide and a gentle flick of his broom, scooped the poop into the scoop and depressed the trigger-lever on the snap-and-seal device. And the malicious matter was encased in an air-tight compartment, which prevented any escape of fumes into the atmosphere. The movement was completed when Malcolm spun on his heel, and bent low at the waist to spray a little water over the affected area, straightening a millisecond later to provide a human cushion for the gent to bump into. The whole incident was over in less than a heartbeat.
    The gent, until the moment he walkedinto Malcolm’s braced shoulders, crumpling his newspaper and knocking his spectacles forward on his nose, was completely unaware of all this activity going on about him – he didn’t even realise Malcolm was there…
    “Ooff, oh – ahh – ouch!” An instance of annoyance. “What the Devil..?” The gent glared angrily at Malcolm. Then he looked down at the fading stain on the pavement, looked up and saw Malcolm standing over it – a slight sheen of perspiration on his brow.
    The gent’s face broke into a smile as he pieced together what had happened. “Why thank you, very much – I could have stepped straight into that, would’ve ruined my shoes, do you know how much I paid for these?” he gasped, flexing an outstretched foot, looking down at his at his gleaming footwear.
    “Why, that’s alright, sir,” Malcolm returned, “You could’ve ’ad a nasty accident there sir – oh aye,” he continued in his Essex drawl, “I’ve seen it afore, a lady, two enormous bags o’ shoppin’ – she didn’t see…” Shaking his head he went on to explain, “A banana – half-eaten on the pavement. She slipped – shoppin’ all over the place. I visit ’er in ’ospital from time to time, sir. A shadder of ’er former self, sir. A mere shadder – ’asn’t been the same since…”
    “But do you realise how much moneyyou saved me?” The city gent thrust a hand into his back pocket, brought out a bulging wallet and fished out a five pound note. “You really must allow me to reward you…”
    “No – no – no sir. Put yer money away – or else I’ll be offended.”
    “Then how?” A frown crinkled on the city gent’s brow.
    “Sir!” Malcolm squared his jaw and put on a most determined expression. “Just knowin’ that you’re safe and well is reward enough fer me. I was born to this – it’s my mission in life. It’s in my blood, Tilsley’s the name, Malcolm Tilsley. Did you know there has been a Tilsley cleanin’ up after every significant event in British ’istory?” He held out the palms of his hands, in an “it’s as simple as that” gesture and said, “Those stones at Stonehenge didn’t pile themselves up, you know…”
    Then he went on to describe in detail the role of his ancestors in a variety of military campaigns through the ages, starting with the allied evacuation at Dunkirk. Going back further to describe the battle of Agincourt and, don’t forget, The Wars of the Roses.
    “Of course, Shakespeare doesn’t mention a Tilsley in any of ’is books, sir – us people who do the dirty work are soon forgotten.” Adding, “But we’re the