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When we lived in Vauxhall, there were two things you could see very night from our lovely little flat, gazing out over Vauxhall pleasure Gardens and the local stripper bar (oldest in London).
One was hordes of lovely young moxen, confused by the evening's take of crystaL meth, squabbling over infrequent passing taxis and access to the contents of some hottie's AussieBum pants.
The other was the brave posse of urban foxes keeping entire vulpine families going on the contents of the local bins. By day, when there were people about on the steets, you never saw any.
But tonight, wandering along Clapham High Street, a busy thoroughfare, we saw a very urbane & urban fox. Unafraid of passing Claphamites, it processed heedlessly up the lower end of the street from Clapham North tube as far as Mary Seacole House, checking out the frontage of each restaurant, and settling under a table in front of a Spanish cantina to demolish some chicken scraps.
I was impressed. |
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