Category Archives: England

Shovelled up like muck, Set the night on fire, Wombles bleed truncheons and shields

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By now you’ve probably heard of the drama unfolding in the cities of England.

For those of you who’ve missed it:

On Thursday, a 29-year-old man named Mark Duggan was shot to death by police officers as he sat in his taxi during a planned arrest.

Family and friends quizzed the police over details about why the father of four was killed but received no information. On Saturday in an attempt for more information and to bring justice to their loved one, a peaceful protest was organised outside Tottenham police station in north London.

Before anyone knew what was happening, some members of the protest began rioting, petrol bombs were thrown, buildings, shops, and vehicles were set alight and all hell broke loose.

Since then not a day has gone by without rioting occurring. Shops are being looted, vehicles and shops have been set on fire, people’s homes have been burned to the ground.

Not only that but the London rioters have sparked a chain reaction in a number of cities around the UK also falling victim to wild rioters and looting.

People are scared to leave their houses. Families have lost their homes and businesses.

Last night the police were nowhere to be seen.

Since Saturday it had been reported in the media that Duggan had been killed because he tried to shoot at police.

Today it was revealed that Duggan had not shot at police after all.

Britain hasn’t seen rioting like this since the Thatcher days. And what’s worse is that the news reports are confirming that the offenders are youngsters, kids from the ages of 12 and 13.

One looter fell over after running out of a shop. A few people crowded around him to see if he was okay and, rather than help him up, they held him down further and robbed him instead. They’re even attacking each other.

People are acting like animals and, of course, this has all become so much more than about Duggan’s death.

A real question of class and government are being posed. “Britain’s underclass” are lashing out against “an indifferent political class that has turned its back on them,” one newspaper reported. Once again the Tory government seems to have let down the non-/working class nation that they’ve continuously turned their back on throughout history and now’s the time to fight back.

Or maybe Duggan’s death was the straw that broke the camel’s back and a nation of youths decided they just didn’t care anymore. If they couldn’t trust the politicians or the police, those people who are here to protect us, it’s every man for himself.

But no real agenda or motive has been given by the rioters themselves. No-one has really come forward to talk to the press about why this is happening. Right now it’s all speculation: the lefties vs the right-wings. Everyone thinks they have the right answer to what they’re seeing on their television screens and that any other opinion is null and void. But the fact of the matter is that right now it all seems so mindless. Why are people looting from baby clothes’ shops and dumping the goods on the other side of town? What exactly is that a stand against?

Whatever real reason does lay behind it all, there’s wrong on both sides and I can’t side with anyone.

The police should have given Duggan’s family information when they wanted it. They knew a protest was being organised and should have learned from the past that these things never remain completely peaceful. They shouldn’t have shot at a man who – from what we can gather for now – posed no threat to them. People need to wake up to the fact that some of our police officers are just as corrupt as those we read about in America, Mexico or wherever. They’re just better at hiding it.

There’s no excuse for what the rioters are doing. I couldn’t give a shit about the looting from big companies and cooperation like Curry’s, JD Sports, PC World … They’re all part of the capitalist world that can make their money back in a heartbeat. It’s the families whose homes and small run independent businesses that have been burned to the ground that I care about. What have these people done to deserve this? They live in a flat above a shop you torched and suddenly them and their 9-month-old baby are huddled together homeless.

I think my Twitter friend Carew put it best:

It’s a noble thing to protest a broken government, but let me remind you that these fuckers robbed a bleeding child to steal a cookie. … The rioters are not ALL the impoverished victims of capitalism, and they are not all scabby, chav thugs. … How about people realise that this issue is more complex than all the partisan bastards want us to believe.

It’ll be interesting to see if any change does come about as a result of this. God knows, this country needs it. Then again, the Prime Minister speaks of nothing but “restoring order” which suggest he really has no fucking idea what the bigger picture in all of this is and the fact that his government isn’t working.

Photo credit.

… *Clear* … *Clear* …. “There’s life, Jim, but not as we know it.”

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It’s been about forty years since I last graced the blogosphere. Wow. Talk about being uninspired to write, huh?

Well, not quite.

I’ve just been so goddayyyum busy! So much seems to have changed in the last couple of months. My blogoversary came and went a few months ago and I barely noticed. My reading’s gone completely down the toilet. (Yes, it’s August and I’ve read a total of 18 books this year. For shame!) I have missed about 5000 posts from my favourite book blogs (just all swiftly marked as ‘read’) and missed about 10,000 from all the other miscellaneous crap I follow.

Essentially, I fail as a blogger. But I intend to correct that … Though I doubt I’ll ever get my readers back. :S

Soooo … what have I been up to that’s worth blogging about as a welcome back into virtual reality?

The main news is that I have a new job. A full-time one.

I’ve spent the last ten months of my life working part-time in retail (Ahh, retail, you bringer of joy, you. *sigh*). Since graduating I’ve more or less had only one goal in mind: I need to travel. My only passion at the moment is to try and find a way to go exploring the world. Two years have come and gone since graduation and I’m still here in a small town in Wales with no stamps in my passport.

My part-time job only provided me with enough fundage to live. I paid for my own travel back and forth to the capital, paid lodge to my parents, paid for my own bills, and spent the rest on those little treats we all need to avoid going completely insane. I’ve barely saved up enough to catch a ferry to France.

With my new full-time job about to start at the end of the month, I now have the means to do so. I’m not an expensive person – I don’t buy DVDs anymore (I don’t have a working DVD player or TV), I take my own lunch to work, I still have a shelf of 70+ unread books to choose from, and I rarely do the girly ‘shopping for clothes’ thing. This means, I can save quite a lot in 12 months. As a result, my round-the-world ticket has already been picked out and is ready to be paid for.

This time next year, I’ll be heading off for six months of travel. :D I actually can’t believe it. Everything I’ve ever wanted to do is right there within reaching distance. My customised round-the-world ticket consists of:

A month in South Africa. (Johannesburg and Cape Town)

Two months in Australia. (All over… and visiting some Aussie friends I met in London last month.)

A month in New Zealand . (All over.)

Two months in Latin America. (Chile, Peru, and then a flight into Mexico.)

Excitement can’t even begin to convey how I feel. In preparation I’m reading a shit load of guides (including extensive safety tips for solo travellers – spare me the ‘kidnapping’ bullshit people are already throwing at me – I’m a big girl, I know what I’m getting myself into), travel memoirs, and taking Spanish lessons.

If anyone chances on this and happens to have done a spot of travelling themselves – in the places I’m visiting or otherwise – and has any tips or advice or stories to share, let me know in the comments. :)

~*~*~

So, yeah. I had a bunch of other crap I wanted to blog about but none of it seems that exciting compared to that.

Oh, yeah, last month my friend and I took a trip to London for a week which was uber awesome but … QUESTION: Where are all the English? London has now become ‘New Australia’. Aussies everywhere! (Not that I’m complaining.)

Our hostel room was absolutely full of Aussie guys (who were hilariously funny and just the epitome of ‘cool’ to hang out with) and all the pubs in the area had Aussie barmen too. Craziness.

While we were there we took a trip into the British Museum. Having had a lot to drink the night before, I was not very awake for most of it … until I came across THIS:

THE actual mummy of Cleopatra!

If there was anything that was going to wake me up, it was this room. Absolutely full of dead people! … and tourists … which I, not without shame, admit we’d become. :S

Beautiful British summer

This is the kind of crap we ate for breakfast. Strawberries and M'n'M's. Mmmmmm.

One of the purdy Aussies boys we took a midnight stroll around the city with after a lot of drinking ... Okay, that sounds bad.

What's that? Oh, yeah! The UK Premiere of The Karate Kid. And I was there. XD

~*~*~

There are other things I’d love to blog about but I almost feel like speaking about things before they happen are going to jinx it too much. I already feel a little weird after writing about my travel plans but, eh, what the hell. :P

There’ll be some reviews coming up that I haven’t posted yet. And horribly rushed attempts to visit every blog I’ve missed. Other than, have a good Tuesday, biyatches.

Day 6: Chester

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I managed to roll out of bed at 5.30am without waking my roommates (who, incidentally, were snoring themselves). I was the first person up in the whole hostel but bumped into one of the staff as I was leaving the bathroom who seemed to jump out of her skin to see another living person at this hour.

I headed to reception to check out and pay for my room. We ended up having a long debate over whether I’d paid or not. She said I was written down as ‘have paid’ but I didn’t remember giving any money. In the end she told me just to go but I felt too guilty. I didn’t want to hand any money over just in case it had come out of my bank account when I’d booked. But that hadn’t happened for my first booking.

In the end we resolved the matter by re-checking my confirmation email (thank goodness for Blackberry). I had paid. Phew! That saved me paying twice.

As I caught the train to Chester, I started to miss the Highlands again, and knew I was going to miss Edinburgh too. I decided that next time I went to Loch Ness I’d bring a tent and stay in a campsite a couple of miles away from Drumnadrochit I spotted on my walk to Urquhart Castle. Just to see what it was like to live on the ground. :)

My seat on the train was taken up by another old person *again*. What is it with the elderly not bothering to look at the reservations signs? Luckily the seat in front was reserved for someone getting on at Crewe, whereas I was getting off at Crewe. See? Logic! I bet if I was 100 years old no-one would ask me to move though.

I’m definitely back in Wengland. I’m grumbling about minor things already! Tut.

I finally arrived at Chester and after stumbling around trying to find my hostel, I was directed by a nice man who came out of a kebab house to pount me the right way. The hostel was mahoosive! I worried that I’d ever find my way back to my room once I’d left it.

My Chester bunk

Yes, Matron.

When I dumped my things onto my bed, the tiredness of the early morning finally hit me. I wanted to be out exploring the city but an equally major part of me wanted to take a shower, get into my PJs and go to sleep. How boring.

I shook myself out of this though and grabbed my bag to head out. On the way I came across one of my roommates, an Australian named Kim, who asked what I was doing that evening. As I had no plans she invited me out with her and a few others from the hostel for a drink. I said that sounded great and told her I’d meet them at the hostel this afternoon.

I headed into town and memories of visits with my family came flooding back to me. Chester is my birthplace and a place I hold dear to my heart. I love everything about the city. After a wander around all the shops, I headed into a place called “Spud U Like” for lunch. Presumably it’s a play on the way Northerners say ‘Would’. Unfortunately it didn’t work in my accent.

After lunch I headed to Chester’s famous city walls (which you can walk along and see the whole city from) and more memories started flooding back.

Chester's Eastgate Clock - Every time I've been to this city, I've taken a picture of it. It never changes. :)

Chester Cathedral

After a good half an hour’s walk along the walls and an interesting chat with an artist selling his sketches of the sights, I was sweltering. By extreme contrast to Scotland’s windy and wet weather, Summer was in full force here. The sun was out and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky! I felt stupid about putting on two layers to walk around and quickly peeled them off my sweaty body.

I decided the best thing to do was to head to Grosvenor Park and sit in the sunshine. I say in the grass feeling disgusting. I hadn’t showered for three days so adding sweat from the heat was pretty vomit inducing.

Other than the smell I was more than likely exuding, I really liked that it was a nice day. I wish someone would have told me though – I would have brought heat-appropriate attire on this trip!

I’d been planning on jumping on one of the city tour buses but decided this was much more preferable. Lying on the grass in the park having a good read. Lovely. I’d recently started enjoying someone’s online journal about their trip around the world. Have really caught the backpacker bug. I can’t help it when I’m surrounded by hostel stayers who live there, find a job, save money, move on, and start again. It’s infectious!

After a couple of hours in the sun and as the afternoon moved on, it started getting chilly again. The park was now swarming with groups of uniform-clad teenagers who’d just finished school. I found it funny that the boys were all hanging around underneath – and climbing – trees but the girls were sitting around on benches, attempting to look cool and poised. Some things never change. Oh, and let’s not forget the girls’ crossed arms over chest stand – a trademark of the uncomfortable adolescent. I did wonder whether I’d be found hanging around here with friends after school if my family hadn’t moved. How different would I be as a product of my environment?

The pond in Grosvenor Park that was actually filled with adorable little ducklings

I soon headed back to my hostel and met up with Kim and my other roommate – Leah, another Australian. We talked a bit about cultural differences and accents. I said I loved listening to theirs and hated the Welsh accent. To me, the Welsh accent elongated so many words it made us sound stupid. They both shushed me and said they loved it. They said they loved the way we curled out words and made everything sound so pretty and romantic. (Aww!)

I got ready to head out with Kim, “the Kiwis upstairs”,  a Scandanavian, and a few of Kim’s friends who lived in the city, in spite of my tiredness. I really wanted to go to bed by this time but didn’t want to miss out on meeting and socialising with a bunch of worldly people. I jumped in the shower (at last!) , got changed and headed out with them.

On our way out we passed a hen party booked in for the night. It was so funny how they looked like the oddballs and not us. Makes a change.

Kim proceeded to walk us a mile along the canal until we hit a pub that wasn’t too loud but still busy. Everyone was out celebrating St. George’s Day and had been drinking since just after noon. We grabbed a few drinks and sat at one of the tables outside, watching the canal boats and the drunken idiots, daring each other to dive into the water.

Kim’s friend, Tristan, turned up after 10 minutes or so and we all chatted and drnak for a bit before deciding on a pub crawl. I’d completely lose track of where we were at that point – thank google Kim lives at the hostel too or else I’d have been wandering around, intoxicated and lost for hours.

At a Wetherspoons-type pub I decided to grab some food for fear all this drinking on a semi-empty stomach might make me throw up. After a lot more drinking, a lot of giggling, a bad pool game, and a third bar (where I finally got ID’d for the first time on this trip – even though the bar woman got very confused by my Welsh provisional license) we decided to call it a night. Tristan gave me his email address saying he’d like to stay in touch, and Kim said I could crash at hers when I make it to Oz. I also gave her my number to let me know when she’s in Cardiff so we can hit the town again.

By the time we got back to the hostel, I tried to do a little reading, but after being awake for 19 hours and with a large amount of alcohol in my system, my eyes wouldn’t stay open.