It might have been a scene from a shoddy amateur rendition of the popular British television series Midsomer Murders, which has been running since 1997. I watched as the two men grew smaller and smaller down Marlowes Road in the heart of sedate Kensington. Both had their backs to us as they scurried away, the shorter stocky one seemingly frogmarching the older flabbier man whose arms were raised above his head in a theatrical gesture of surrender.
They turned a corner and were lost to view. I am sure the raised arms and frogmarching were promptly abandoned then as both men
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