Jun. 11th, 2016

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When I was growing up it seemed there was more violence than today. Playground violence, street violence, pub violence, football violence. A casual nihilism, given expression through recreational violence, violence without fury.

More vandalism too. Mounds of diamonds at the bus shelters, the phone boxes. Windows barred or strengthened with wire mesh in the glass.

It was like living in the home of a toddler: those things that were not already broken had been proofed against breakage.

Much less now. There are theories. Lead-free petrol. That and the phones to keep the fingers busy.

The telly was on in the pub earlier: tear gas clouds and the age-old ballet of running and scrapping and chucking cafe chairs about.

      "We're all voting Out, we're all voting Out - Fuck off Europe: we're all voting Out!"

An old bloke down the bar was telling war stories - from when he went all over The Continent with Spurs. His eyes shining. "...when you seen em all running... Stanley knives an all... then you was back at work on Monday..."

Maybe it's just an echo. Reasserting a constant, from my childhood into my teens into my twenties. Neither comforting nor reassuring, but as familiar as a school corridor revisited.


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