Chicken

I hate the school holidays in the summer, mostly because there are so many jaded children loitering around the streets with nary a thing to do.

Please don’t get me wrong: let me say straight away that, generally speaking, I love young kids. But I much prefer it when they are in another room or town. Or hemisphere.

There are so few provisions by way of useful and entertaining amusements for teenagers here in the village during the summer break. And moreover, they seem unable – when left to their own devices – to conjure up for themselves any constructive or rewarding activities with which to fill their days. Consequently, many of them are content to just hang around in small groups drinking cheap cider and generally getting up to no good.

I dread my walks with Audrey on the rec’ when there are gangs of youths skulking around there. And I am not just referring to boys; girls are the worst. I would not consider myself to be a coward by any stretch of the imagination, but small groups of bored teenage girls absolutely terrify me.

There is one particular unsophisticated crowd of around seven or eight discourteous, adolescent females that I take great pains to avoid on every occasion. Whenever Audrey and I are unlucky enough to stroll past them or wander into their vicinity, they have taken to calling out to me in loud and high-pitched voices: ‘Hello, chicken!’ ‘Alright, chicken?’ Or simply – and this is my favourite: ‘Chicken!’

It is embarrassing and upsetting at best, alarming and fear-provoking at worst. But generally, I find it to be an intensely annoying state of affairs – so much so in fact, that I have taken to breaking out in hives.

‘Your description of me is fundamentally an inaccurate one; I am not a chicken. Now please leave me alone you girl morons,’ I would dearly love to say to them, but of course, I never do. I learned long ago that the best policy is to just ignore them.

They decided to keep chanting ‘chicken’ at me after Audrey and I walked past them a few days ago and they heard me say to my dog: ‘Come on, Audrey. Let’s go home, chicken.’ She was attempting to greet them, tail at full wag, but I knew that nothing good would come of it. ‘When worlds collide’ and all that.

Since that ill-fated first encounter, they have never looked back. They really go for it now with all the vigour and girly abandon that they can muster each time they see us approaching. I must say, however, that their mocking is very proficient for such young souls. It is always delivered with an elegant precision that I find difficult not to admire. But I suppose they do have a lot of free time on their hands in which to hone their skills.

I do not want to be a wet blanket and deprive innocent teenagers of what little fun they can conjure up in these depressing times, but I do rather wish that they would leave me alone and find somebody else to injure with their harsh words and rapier wit.

Tagged as: Annoyances, English Village Life, Teenagers