Postcard From London - February 06 - Anarchy Arrives

Mind you, acts of violence are more common these days. Schools in London are turning out increasing numbers of students unprepared for life in the Capital. Ill-educated, barely able to read or use numbers, unless it’s the betting odds, they are alienated and capable only of working in menial, low paid jobs. We are now witnessing the effects of their stolen education.

Cannabis has been ‘decriminalised.’ What a joke that is, when the disaffected youth strut around in their trainers, hoods and tracksuit bottoms all hyped up for their next crime. Yes, we have increasing numbers of plain clothes police on the streets. Yes, we have now got semi-police with their blue jumpers and their mountain bikes. But the numbers of acts of violence and vandalism creep ever upwards as youths with ‘attitude’ roam the streets looking for action.

Then there’s the new alcohol laws that can be summed up as ‘drink as much as you like for as long as you like’. As more and more high street shops become ‘bars’, this just encourages excessive drinking. So the youngsters do….. and then the street fighting begins. You always know when it’s been a heavy weekend for by Monday morning the doorways stink of piss, there’s vomit on the ground and the pavements have that dark tinge …of spilt blood.

‘Bit extreme’, you’re thinking, this picture I’m painting of life in outer London. Not really… just pick up any local paper. They report the mayhem, week after week, but no-one of any influence has realised the extent of the anarchy that is so very close to the surface. A new club opened in Hendon last month, and then one evening a masked gang of seven skinny youths brandishing pickaxe handles and baseball bats hurled rocks through the windows, smashed the plasma screens and then took on the security staff before the sirens wailed. Well - so - these things happen. Yes, maybe, but not when the thugs return for a repeat performance later in the same week.

It’s only the thought of some day retiring to Highland Perthshire to Achloa, where only the sound of rutting deer may disturb your sleep, that keeps me sort of sane in this London world that’s sliding madly out of control.

Bob Arthy