Emergency Kevlars required

After last night my desire to own a kevlar hoodie has increased exponentially.
We have always had problems with the group of vile kids who hang around outside our house screaming, breaking the fence and beating each other up with the wooden planks, throwing milk bottles and rocks around, playing loud music at all hours of the night and scream in a very loud, very common, very irritating nasal whine. And they like to drug deal outside there, too. Their mate comes round on a bike and they sit around boasting about their narcotic intake whilst keeping lots of people, mainly my housemate whose window they like to sit under, awake.

Before I went away it was so bad that I had decided I would be moving back to Suburbia so I could try get a decent nights sleep and not walk to work through a mound of broken glass each morning. I had also decided that I would not be putting up with the noise from the kids, or the complete and utter ineptitude of the local council and the local police.

I had spent hours and hours on the phone trying to get through to *anyone* to sort them out, but I never managed to get through to a human being. Nice. Last night, though, I tried a different station and finally got through to someone. Shortly after explaining what had happened, house mate and I looked out of the window and saw a kid of about 16 with the typical chav uniform of baseball cap and trainers, eyes glazed with a slightly confused look typically found in those with a low IQ, walking down the road with two huge knives in his hand. HUGE knives. Behind him was his 'robin', also holding a knife.

They were shouting at someone down the road, and saying something along the lines of 'you want to see a fucking knife? This is a fucking knife!'

It's two knives, actually, you pathetic little retard.

So I call up the police and tell them that on top of kids drug dealing under the window they are now trying to knife each other, sans keflon hoodie. Well, they get a bit more interested and take details, including the name of the guy which HM managed to glean and what he was wearing.

The police van drove by, got to the end of the road, and turned back again. They drove straight past a gang of 6 pikeys standing by the side of the road who all knew exactly what happened and possibly contained the little blade-loving turd himself, but they didn't stop. And I never saw them again.

Can someone tell me why I pay my council tax? I know it's supposed to be the lowest in the country, and isn't that wonderful and blah blah, but they've halved our bin collections but we still only have the one dustbin so we get half the service. There are bin bags in the house because there's no room outside and if we leave the bin bags out then the foxes shred them and no one cleans up because there is no street cleaning. And the kids who live in the council houses make the people who have to go to work's lives a misery by keeping them up all night with their screaming and shouting and loud music and desire to smash everything.

Why should I pay for them to exist to make my life a misery, and why should I pay for the police when they have no desire to protect me against people with knives?

Answers on a shoebox, to the usual address.