Tabloids have made school gate nonchalance impossible

A few winters ago I owned a longish black coat that was both warm and a lot more fashionable than the one my descrption has led you to picture. Also at this time I occasionally recieved a lift to football training in Rick's blue Ford Deathtrap, for which I would wait by the school at the end of Scorer Street until Rick revved up and attempted to run me down (if you have not encountered Rick's driving then it is worth pointing out that when I say 'run me down' I am not alluding to the lift giving process, but an actual weekly brush with death as Rick sped towards me. Had he driven a quieter car I probably would not be here today).

Leaving the house one Friday afternoon I realised that it was far too cold for football kit alone and put the afore mentioned coat on over the top. And so I stood at my regular waiting spot with a growing feeling of paranoia brought forth by receiving either curious or disgusted stares from anyone passing by. It was only after five minutes of cautious glances from strangers that it dawned one me why they stared so. It was because I was hanging around a school glancing around nervously (for Rick could arrive from any direction) whilst wearing a long black coat over my football shorts which gave the illusion I was naked from the waist down. Had Rick not shown up when he did I probably would have been listed in the News of the World before you could say 'vigilante mob'.

Looking out my window today reminded me of this. From my bedroom I can see the gates of the school behind, and when I glanced out at midday today I caught site of a greying man in an anorak stood on the pavement outside. Intermittently while I watched him the man did all of the following; walked back and forth... stared at his shows... looked curiously at our fence... put his hands in his pockets... whistled... took his hands out of his pocket... moved his wallet from one pocket to another... looked at his watch... stared up at the sky. My bedroom is not decked out as a hive, I had neither binoculars nor flask, all this took place in a mere twenty seconds.
All of this nervous activity was being performed by a man who was clearly thinking; "If I don't make it desperately clear I am waiting for my own child, other people will probably think I'm a paedophile." I know this was his thought process because at the same time I was looking at him thinking "He's pretty desperate to make it look like he's waiting for his own child... he must be a paedophile."

That both he and I should be caught in this ironic opposition of thought is of course a result of tabloid paranoia on issue which is anything but grey. I cannot mistaken in my belief that when it comes to paedophillia's location on a spectrum of decency, most folk will have made their mind up. As such, reports on the activities of convicted paedophiles do not make the crime worse, they just build up the hype. And it's because of this scare-mongering that men can no longer wait innocently outside learning establishments in shorts or anoraks for fear of featuring in a grainy photograph in a Sunday exclusive beneath a headline featuring a loose pun on the word 'nonce'.