You're having a laugh!

"It's effing gross, isn't it?"

A woman with a pram (and a howling 3-year-old in tow), is standing next to me. We are looking at a new sculpture installation in Bromley town centre.

"Postmodern art," I reply, shaking my head, slowly.

"I don't care what they call it," she shouts above the shrieks. "He gets the eebie-jeebies when we walk past it." She pulls hard on the little one's arm, nearly dislocating it, then leans down and wipes a wet nose. "Hates it. Says it scares the pants off 'im."

"Oh," I reply, taking a step back. Men in their 60s do not like getting into conversations with anyone discussing kids losing their pants on the streets of Bromley, no matter what the circumstances.

She mutters something inaudible about the Conservative Party and wanders off in the direction of Primark. The screams become traumatised sobs.

I look at the sculpture, not sure what to make of it.

"Effing daft," observes a new arrival. It's a young man with Harry Potter glasses and massive Cyberman headphones. "Waste of effing money."

"Well..." I begin.

"Cost 30 grand," interrupts Potter, knowledgeably.

"Really?" I am genuinely shocked.

"Cycled into it, last night. Didn't know they'd put the sod there."

"Oh," I frown, wondering why young Harry was cycling on the pavement in the first place. I say nothing. The man leaves.

A middle-aged woman with blonde hair and a red top stops in her tracks, as she strides past. She stares at the beast... up and down... then down and up. She then looks at me and folds her arms.

"Typical," she tuts, loudly. "Sexist shit in the high street now."

She walks off, exuding anger. I feel guilty for some strange reason.

Two men in grey suits then walk past. They stop briefly, have a loud laugh, after which one tosses a half-eaten burger into the gaping mouth. They laugh again and walk away.

I decide I have had enough of Bromley art for one day, when a small man appears with long hair and wearing a grubby t-shirt with 'Slipknot' scrawled on the front.

"Effing cool," he says, in admiration. "Fan-effing-tastic, mother-effer!" He then wanders off towards Churchill Gardens, smelling strongly of something not quite legal.

Whatever the merits of the new sculpture in Bromley, it certainly has achieved what the artist/sculpture probably intended. Lively debate.

I decide to go for a coffee at Caffe Nero near the station and a long think. The barista takes my order and leans forward over the counter. He then whispers loudly: "Have you seen the elephant's vagina on the trike?"