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TRCH The Da Vinci Code

A Thought From The No. 27 Bus Stop

11 April 04 words: Frankie Jones
I wouldn't say that the road on which I live is particularly bad, but surely someone should take notice of three broken glass bottles and one explosion of glass from a car window

Burnt Out Car - Photo by Joe Ryder

I was stood at my bus stop earlier this afternoon, waiting for the increasingly elusive 27 to take me to, fittingly enough, the lions, when I was joined by a lady with much the same intention. After the obligatory gripes about the weather, the buses and trams, work and the weather again, she uttered a grievance regarding the light dusting of broken glass around our feet. The significance of the fact I hadn't even noticed didn't strike me until I got onto the bus and did the polite thing of sitting a good few seats away from the lady upon whom I had engaged this conversation.

I wouldn't say that the road on which I live is particularly bad, certainly compared to a lot of parts of Nottingham, but surely someone should take notice of three broken glass bottles and one explosion of what I assume was glass from a car window, all within a range 2 metres from where they were stood. But the fact of the matter is, I would've perhaps taken more notice if the glass hadn't been there at all. This lead me to thinking, have we all grown complacent in regard to this city?

I don't think I know anyone, aside from maybe those "fortunate" few who graced the eternally well groomed halls of Nottingham High School, who doesn't have a single ex-classmate who has either fallen off the face of the earth entirely, had the fall broken by the police and eventual jail, or just pottered along happily as a petty thief or drug dealer. And yet no one seems to mention the gut wrenching sadness that springs from watching someone that maybe you once cared about give up on society entirely and spend the rest of their fast fading days bombed out on smack.

A few years ago, when still the city streets were ripe with the homeless and begging, I was stopped by a man who seemed on first appearance maybe twice my years, but a second passed and he was recognised as someone who was only two years above me in school and once or twice slapped me about or kicked a football damn hard at my rather un-athletic ass. Being 15 at the time, I was happy to see this as a form of perverted revenge, and toddled off unrecognised and with a sense of satisfaction at his misery. However I fear maybe the eternal echo it has left lodged in my brain is a fitting punishment for being such a cold hearted bastard.

The Pit - Photo by Joe RyderIs it really so fine to just dismiss the less fortunate? To simply avoid certain areas of Nottingham due to their bad reputation? To sit at ones computer happily discussing a local band's latest performance at a bar whose name you half remember but can't quite place, on a website dedicated to the culture of a city, just so long as that culture fits into a nice, warm, Trent FM plug-able picture frame?

Maybe we could all try and broaden the views of the youth of Nottingham, maybe we could all try to spread a message of true culture before reflecting our own egos for in-house back slapping, maybe there is still space in this much loved city for the love there is to be shared.

Maybe is a bloody weak word.

Next week - Frankie reviews the new single from Blue!!

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