I was walking my cockapoo when I saw a man taking a s**t in our street. This is what it taught me

When confronted with something disgusting, Sam Delaney reacted instinctively. It was his son who became the voice of reason.

There’s a classic joke about an old man standing on a mountaintop, surveying the town he grew up in. Approached by a couple of passers-by, he tells them: “Look at that church. I helped build it. But do they call me John the Church Builder? They do not. Look at that school. I taught four generations of children in that school. But do they call me John the Teacher? No. And yet, I fuck ONE goat…”

Apologies if you’ve heard that a million times. It’s an old one but a good one. It’s not just funny, it has a moral which rings true in any society: very often, public opinion is based on highly selective evidence. But we must not allow anecdotal evidence and isolated incidents to sour our view of other people or the world we live in. Humankind relies on this.

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All of which brings me to an unsavoury incident last week. My son and I were taking our dog, Cookie, on her evening walk when we saw a man crouching down and taking a shit in our street. On the pavement outside our neighbour’s house. I don’t know if you’ve ever encountered someone shitting in your street before but, trust me, you have no idea how you will respond until it happens to you. I completely span out into a state of anger, confusion and judgmentalism.

I shouted at him to stop but, clearly, he had reached a stage where his progress could not be reversed. I told him what he was doing was disgusting. He reasoned that I let my dog do the same thing. I shouted back at him: “BUT YOU ARE A HUMAN BEING!”

To be fair, he got napkins from his van and cleared up his mess. (But would he have, had I not caught him? It’s just one of the many questions that have bothered me since.) 

I told him it was particularly offensive to the people who lived in the house he was shitting outside. “Don’t worry,” he said with a casual wave of the hand (he seemed genuinely amused that I was reacting with such uptight outrage). “I paid them.” This sounded far-fetched, to say the least. Imagine if you were at home and someone knocked on your door and said “Do you mind if I do a shit outside your house? I am happy to compensate you financially for the trouble.” What price would you try to negotiate?  

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I noticed he was wearing a high-vis jacket. His van suggested he was a courier. I took a picture of the registration plate and told him I would be calling the police. Only then did he seem apologetic. I marched off indignantly, wrestling with what I should do next.

My son was the voice of reason, explaining that the police would be unlikely to want to get involved. Plus, even if they did, what did I want? An arrest? A day in court? For the man to lose his job – in this difficult labour market, with this nightmare economy? Perhaps he was just ill and got caught short. Maybe I had been too angry. Perhaps I should have left him alone, with some dignity.

I still don’t know. What I do know is that it was an isolated incident that nothing of any greater meaning should be read into. When I have told others, a few have asked stuff like: “Has this happened before?” and “Is your street quite rough?” I have lived on this street for 10 years. I have lived in London my whole life. I have never seen anything like this before. It is not illustrative of a society in decline or a city in crisis. 

Others asked: “What nationality was he?” Sure, the bloke was foreign; 90% of couriers round my way are. Was this a cultural norm to him? An un-British behaviour transplanted from a foreign land, just as the Daily Mail warned us about? Chances are he was just a bloke with a dicky tummy. 

Don’t get me wrong: he’s not completely forgiven. When you see someone shitting in your street, just yards from your home, with your young son and adorable cockapoo, it takes some getting over. But I refuse to let my upset go deeper. I will not let a single, isolated shit erode my faith in the decency of other humans and the beauty of the city. Let the Daily Mail pick the story up and do their worst. I will not let my humanity be broken.

Read more from Sam Delaney on his Substack.

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