A little after noon found me walking down South Street from the north and it was in this place and at this time that I spotted – through squinted eyes on account of the sun's position directly ahead of me – an explosion of reds and whites at eye level. Aha! I thought. It could only be Chichester's famous Red Head Gang (not to be confused with the equally fantastic Red Hand Gang from Canada in the 1970s) out for a bit of a neighbourhood patrol.
The ladies of the gang were deep in conversation as I approached – I heard the words "protection" and "respect" and the phrase "break his legs" in hushed tones – but I couldn't take a photo. Not out of fear, of course, because I am at least as tough as five elderly women sporting red headwear. No, I couldn't take the snap because they were backlit by that accursed ball of plasma 93 million miles away! A pox on it!
I needed to get the sun at my back. This meant walking past the gang and turning around. I've turned around before and felt confident that this manoeuvre would not be beyond my abilities and so it was to be but, alas! The ladies had started to move on in the opposite direction! I let out my best Muttley grumble and took a shot of their backsides.
I don't normally take shots of elderly gang members' backsides but I don't think it came out too bad.
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