One afternoon, a few days ago a good friend invited me to their house, located in one of the residential parts of town, as they needed some advice on their garden.
Naturally my good self was more than happy to assist.
My one condition was that my trusty motor must be left in the driveway after all my good self has heard tales of what happens in the part of town where my friend lives.
Arriving on time yours truly was just locking the door of my car when the distant sound of a car racing along the road could be heard.
Soon the noisy vehicle came into view. An open top sports car flashed by at speed. The engine was being revved far too high, the tyres were screeching and the exhaust silencer box appeared to have failed.
Two passengers in the back were half standing up, sitting on the back of the rear seats waving their hands in the air like a cowboy clinging to a bucking bronco at a rodeo. The rear seatbelts were obviously not being used.
By George! If the vehicle was involved in a frontal accident the fools in the back would be catapulted out of the car like human cannonballs and come a cropper on the road in front.
Thank heavens my extremely valuable trusty motor was safely in my hosts driveway with such numbskull’s cruising around the roads.
Luckily there was a clear view from my friends back garden to my car parked in the driveway at the side of the house.
My friend had lots of questions to ask. Slowly we walked through their garden, on to the greenhouse and ended up at the pond.
With one eye kept on my car in the drive yours truly became aware of a woman standing on the pavement outside the house. Obscured by the corner of the low hedge just her shoulders and head were visible. Occasionally she glanced down the garden towards us.
My friend and I sat and enjoyed a cream tea on a table by the pond.
Still that woman was there, a face looking at us from the pavement. How rude of her. Who on earth was she? She seemed moderately interested in us, as if she wanted us to speak to her rather than her initiate contact.
The time came for me to leave, bidding goodbye to my host yours truly walked down the drive to my car. The woman on the pavement was still there. She looked directly towards me while moving out from the cover of the hedge. It was then my good self realised who/what she was.
‘By George!‘ I exclaimed upon seeing her standing there in knee length high-heeled leather boots, fishnet stockings, short mini skirt, dark glasses and leather jacket.
I fear the Desborough Road Public Space Protection Order (PSPO) has cleared the prostitutes from the town centre and now they’re working the residential areas of Wycombe.
All the time my good self was at my friends house the sound of cars with loud exhausts driving around could be heard. Of course they weren’t mischievous youths on a joyride were they? Outside the town’s PSPO area kerb crawlers are free to cruise around looking for a pick up.
Naturally my good self got in my trusty motor as quickly as possible and ignored the woman who walked off as fast as she could.
Isn’t it about time the town’s PSPO area was extended to cover all of Wycombe including the residential areas?
What do you think?
*My blogs are published every Tuesday and Friday evening around 8.00pm here on the WycombeToday.com website.