Running in my local park this evening (35 mins, v good) I crossed the path of a chavvy youthy person. You know the type. Tracky bottoms hanging off his arse, Calvins pulled high in case anyone should inadvertently see his arse (cultural disconnect there? Why hang low if....?). Worse, he had his hand in his Calvins scratching what lay beneath.
Anyway, long story short, I shouted at him. "Get yer hand out of yer pants & stop scratching your knackers" I shouted. And he did. Astonishing. I then started to worry about what would happen if I encountered him again.
Naturally, Mr Sod's law being what it is, I encountered him again on my next circuit of the park. Oooh Er. But I fixed him with my best "Don't mess with me matey, I'm a runner, Laura says" basilisk stare. His hands remained resolutely outwith his trousers and he averted his gaze, cowed by the invocation of Saint Laura.
Just one more benefit of this fabulous programme.