Urbanned

I'm in Croydon, that great unwelcomer of all things good, a town in eternal sneer at the finer things in life such as tailoring, and manners. I spent ten years in this place as a child and have gone out of my way to avoid it ever since. However, circumstances have prevailed against me and today I must pass through as I'm visiting my sister in Mayday hospital. The name is entirely appropriate. So it is with dispirited steps that I walk from the train to the bus stop, avoiding the lanky grown men pedalling low bmx bikes in lazy arcs on the high street, skimming small children and knocking old women off balance. The men strutting around with trousers at their knees, the lower the waistband, the higher their status, like they're saying, my opinion of myself is so lofty, gravity takes special effect. Shops sell the promises of a lifestyle no-one can afford, the luxury of handsoap, the chic of matching china. And when I get home that evening to find someone has vomited in the lift and pissed all over the doorway, just it's distance from the twilight of Zone 5 makes it smell like the sweetest of scents.