No not me.
I'll explain..
Butterfield Green -- as its name suggests -- is a delightful spot in this north London neighbourhood undergoing fairly rapid economic and its attendant social change.
Stokie is the 'nappy valley' of the north -- counterpoint, say, to Clapham in the south. The two and three-storey victorian properties are increasingly being returned from flats to houses and it's where career-minded coupled-up folk of a northern persuasion migrate to from N1 for more space and to breed.
It has the sometimes chic, sometimes funky Church Street at its centre. It has a number of good and excellent gastropubs and restaurants in the vicinity. It has authentic toy shops and designer boutiques. In many ways a middle class area on the 'up.'
But it also has a legacy -- that of enclaves of ethnic communities, equal-opportunities poverty cutting across nationality and origin and a lot of social housing. This is Hackney, after all.
But somehow the haves and have-nots and those in-between seem to co-exist pretty well. I think a lot of that is to do with the community-mindedness of the various cultural groups here and also to hands-off, low-key approach of the police who usually do their rounds on mountain bikes.
So back to the green..
The green is where Ems and I spend a lot of time. It's handier in the morning and evening than the much bigger Clissold Park.
We share it with all types. Other dog walkers, mums and dads with prams, buggies and kiddies. And of course, drunks, druggies and the human flotsam damaged by the aforementioned vices and mental illness.
Ems loves it because she can run and sniff and chase squirrels. Also, city people don't really understand wild-(and no-so)-life too well so think they're doing their 'bit' by leaving all manner of leftover delicacies scattered liberally to support foxes, pigeons, badgers, squirrels and -- ehem -- greedy springers.
So this evening we do our usual thing, Ems and I. We hit the green. OK, the area might be some kind of 'can't we all just get along' social shangri-la poster child for New Labour.. most of the time. But this is London so I always scope the place for lurkers and n'ere-do-wells -- which is especially important as it's usually dark at this time of the year when we're there.
Tonight in addition to mums and cyclists there are three guys -- one 'Swampy'-type and two chavs -- just sitting on a bench and in clear view. My in-built metropolitan radar clocks them, assesses the threat-level and deems them low risk. So we continue. Ems, nose-down sniffing, me head-down paying actively no attention.
Then out of nowhere four policemen appear and apprehend our companions. Questioning, 'direct' language and body searches. Heck, drama.
Ems gets interested and she gets excited. Stuff's happening and she wants to be part of the action. She sidles-up and sniffs a lot which only makes the police officers even keener to continue with their line of questioning and body searchng. She starts barking and the police really start getting interested in our dopers. Then she starts wagging her tail -- a lot -- as well as sniffing and barking. She's caught hold of a really interesting smell and is greatly intrigued.
The police are now taking her name and address and have her in their sights as a key witness.
Frankly, I'm thinking witness protection.
Anyway, the 'frighteners' duly applied and names and pack-drill done with, the police depart and our 'neighbours' are left to their idlng and shooting daggers in our direction.
Ems is only a dog and thinks everyone's her friend and these chaps are really good fun, so she wanders back over, barks, wags and lies on her back for a tummy tickle.
This overture of friendliness from her is not well received and she's roundly told to 'gercha' if she knows what's good for her.
I know what's good for me so I'm moving out to the country and she's going to Battersea.
Snitch.
