Revenge Is Dish Best Served Cold

And so, in the globally warmed mildness which is now the English winter, we walk to Highgate Woods, and I have my usual regret in not having a dog to walk. (It would also sort out the cat problem at home).

As we walked by the park benches, we casually glanced upon the plaques mounted upon each, commemorating the deceased loved ones who had once frequented the woods, and apparently enjoyed their time there.

This set me thinking. Why just commemorate the loved?

Why can't we use the dog-shit containers to berate the loathed?

"Sid Guts: an odious little sod who never threw the ball back over the fence, unless he'd punctured it first"

"Cynthia Sudbury: an appauling snob, and hypocrite; rest in hell bitch"

"Vince Wilkins: the local burgular and all-round prick: I'm glad you fell off the ladder, you git!".

That sort of thing.