HarryG

To make sense of it, I'm a tall, white man with fair hair and blue eyes, who abhors racism of any kind.


I've just come back from London after a few days away to allow the dust to settle on another matter.


On Tuesday, I had a nostalgic day at the dogs, where I lost a small fortune, and afterwards visited my pal, Bill, who runs a pub in Stepney. Bill's a giant former docker, afraid of nothing apart from his wife, and we've been to many a boxing show together, including a trip to Las Vegas when our Frank Bruno fought Tyssen and lost miserably. We offset the horrendous cost by backing the obvious winner beforehand.


After the pub closed, Bill and I got talking and suddenly it was two o'clock in the morning. Bill wanted to phone me a taxi to take me back to Hackney where I was staying, but I wanted some fresh air and decided to walk home. I know the area rather well, and looked forward to my hour-long walk. Bill was horrified.


“Harry, you've been away too long. You can't walk back to Hackney, you'll never make it.”


Ten minutes later, I was taking my first short cut through a housing estate on my way to Bethnal Green, when a dozen, hooded Asian kids suddenly blocked my way.


“Where are you going, you got any money on you?”


I couldn't win and started talking as fast as I could, explaining my loss at the dogs and apologising for crossing their manor. They let me go.


I decided to stick to the main roads and got to Bethnal Green and started up the long Hackney Road. Near to Queensbridge Road, my destination, I couldn't resist another short cut through another housing estate.


Suddenly, I was confronted by half-a-dozen black youths, all of them hooded, and much larger than their Asian counterparts, and this time I knew I was in trouble.


“Where are you going, you got any money on you?”


I could see the housing estate I was heading for and pointed to it, explaining yet again that I'd lost all my money at the dogs. But this lot weren't having any of it, and I planned to at least getting a punch in at the biggest lad, at the back. The big lad at the back suddenly said, “Let him go, he's Old Bill,” and they melted into the shadows.


I crossed over the canal bridge in Queensbridge Road and got to the block of flats where I was staying, cursing my stupidity for not listening to Bill.


The communal entrance door was open, as usual, and I wearily trudged up the first flight of stairs. On the bend, I found a group of youngsters, both black and white, barring my way. They were slumped over the stairs, with all their drug paraphernalia around them. I decided against stepping over them, it would have been too dangerous. They seemed to speak in unison.


“Where are you going, got any money on you?”


I was one staircase away from safety, and recognised a couple of the junkies.


I said, “I've done my bollocks at the dogs, and I've only got two quid left. Any chance of a bit of skunk for that?”


The youngster I recognised as a downstairs neighbour, shook his head and handed my the spliff he was smoking, “I don't want your fucking two quid.”


When I got to the flat where I was staying, I put the heavy security locks into place, flushed the spliff down the toilet, and phoned Bill to apologise for not listening.

SoNickSays...

Welcome back to London!

I was caught last week by a group of kids (well... most of them were my age, but they didn't do well with their lives.)
One actually had his arm pulled back when I refused to give him my money, but the guy next to him recognized me. I'm ashamed to say that due to my junkie brother I've earned 'rep' among these chavs, and apparently I'm 'untouchable' (what the guy said.)

Lucky me, I suppose.

Try and... er... get respect? One of them said that you're with Old Bill. Use that next time you got crossed. Just say you need to meet up with Bill or something. Might just save your skin.

Nick

Writ-with-Hand

I'm assuming you fictionalized this part since you used it with repetition:
“Where are you going, got any money on you?”


I didn't find any racism in your story just a crazy man: you. Like you found out you should have taken your buddy Bill's advice. I don't think it's worth the risk, Harry, getting beat up or stabbed or just harassed. That flat you were in sounds like a fucked building too.

CroZ

Yo!
I got threatened by a bunch of knife wielding ten year olds few weeks back, but I'm not ageist.

JosephB

Why didn't you mop up the street with all these young ruffians, G-man?

__________________
"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."
-- Albert Einstein

"I am really only interested in a fiction of miracles."
-- Flannery O'Connor

Writ-with-Hand

Can somebody tell me if Scottish gangsters are active in England? Scotland and the city of Glasgow intrigues me with their storied gangster history and knife culture.

Also, in Britain who are the more dominate organized crime factions. The Italians and Sicilians, the Russians, the Japanese, the Chinese, the Scots, the Jamaicans, the East Indians or who?

JosephB

The Teletubbies are the most evil, insidious gang in England.

__________________
"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."
-- Albert Einstein

"I am really only interested in a fiction of miracles."
-- Flannery O'Connor

SevenWritez

Them bitches be crazy. Fuckin' shankin' people wit'dem saws'n shit on their head.

__________________
As long as some suffer, the river flows forever
As long as there is pain, the river flows forever
As strong as a smile can be, the river will flow forever
As long as you are with me, we'll ride the river together

-Tupac Shakur

smilinghelps

Harry,

Your story reminds me of an experience I had about 15 years ago in Philadelphia. I was taking my girlfriend to see the famous South Street as she was a recent transplant from Colorado and had never experienced Center City Philadelphia, or any city for that matter.

We drove the half hour into the city and found parking on an old cobblestone street in Society Hill. There was a great row of boutiques right in the center of the square, which I used to run through as a child. My brother and I would skip from cobblestone to cobblestone while our Mother peered in the shop windows. It was the shortcut from Front St to Third St and half a block from South.

This particular Saturday afternoon was very windy but sunny and I was excited to show Robin around. Distracted by nostalgia, I failed to notice the deteriorated condition of the square and gabbed about the wonderful shops. We were more than halfway through the square when Robin grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, "I don't think this is the way." Still unaware I said, "sure it is."

Just before the next corner I noticed and stopped and looked around.

Along every wall, in every corner, up every perfect spiral staircase was a junkie. Not two or three but dozens and dozens of drugged out, annoyed and quickly perturbed junkies.

"You're right this isn't the way." was all I could manage to say as we quickly backpedaled out of the square. I felt like Michael Jackson in the Thriller video as a few of them walked toward us with the dazed expressions on the faces.

Back out on the sidewalk (and what seemed like reality), I looked at the entrance of the square and stretched my neck up to see the neon sign that hung above Society Hill, which read Marketplace, now with broken glass and missing letters. (I swear it didn't look that way a minute ago) I wanted to cry--partly because of the loss of a great square and partly because we nearly got our asses killed.

We walked the long way to South Street and made sure we got back to our car before dark. My friend Robin still doesn't like cities.

Next time, listen to Bill.

__________________
"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."
E. B. White

Writ-with-Hand

Thread drift.

Smiling, read on this dude in this link. Retablos, Saints, Spanish Colonial Art, Rubel Jaramillo,

If his life story given on this page, I presume from oral stories told by him, is true, then this gentleman has to be one of the most interesting and stellar men I have ever heard about. Do you think much of the accounts of his life could be totally fiction? Some of that Vietnam tale seems to much heroic and Hoolywoodish to me.

Anyways the art and culture of old word Colorado seems fascinating! They actually built dudes coffin as was customary or traditional.

Excerpt.

Remedy

You have to be careful in bad areas.

I went to Newark, NJ a few years ago, in the sections where my mother grew up (not very nice at all). We got out of the car only twice; once, parked illegally to run into a nuns' office (so that we could see the old church; it was padlocked) and once because we were seriously lost. We stopped in the middle of the street, put the hazards on, and my mother ran into a car garage to ask. My mother, who lived in that area for 21 years, who carried a knife religiously (she doesn't anymore, at least that I know of), and who recieved more than one death threat in that place, ran, so I assume it was pretty nasty.

We did get out at another section though (Aspbery? Asberry? Park). Neither my aunt nor my mother would let me go into one of the buildings, because there was a rather large man prowling about; looking for targets, they said. Now, in retrospect, this guy was maybe a bit bigger than my partner, and I know how strong he is (ie, could crush just about anyone), so it wouldn't have been smart to get into something. But I was determined to go into that building, and I tend not to fear people like I should. Fortunately, they are ultimately smarter than me, and they're older than me, so I listened to them in the end; the man decided to focus his attentions on a couple halfway down the boardwalk, and we got out of there.

HarryG

Shouldn't be that way, should it? Sadly, it is, and not just in London.


After living abroad for many years, I have, lately, considered returning to the UK, where the place I know best of all is London. But I'm now looking at Essex and Suffolk, away from the smoke. I can already picture myself in that cottage with the roses round the door, beside the river flowing down to the nearby sea.


Dream on, H.

spider8

Because our governments go for people with a bit of money. If you've a job and a house and you're caught with drugs or knives you'll end up in court- your feet won't touch the floor. If you've nothing they'll do nothing much, maybe a caution, confiscate the knife or drugs.

Cossack

If it's any consolation, It's not just London. I live in Leeds and get all the same stuff. I don't mind telling a guy on his own to go and get stuffed, but when it's a group it's harder to deal with. I can run pretty fast though. I got a black eye only the night before last telling a guy on his own that he couldn't "use" my phone.

JosephB

If you ever make it this way, there are few areas of Atlanta I might recommend for an evening stroll. The least of your worries would be encountering naughty youngsters with knives.

__________________
"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."
-- Albert Einstein

"I am really only interested in a fiction of miracles."
-- Flannery O'Connor