Well, that was invigorating. Our house is in between two of the places in South East London where people were rioting. Some of it came pretty close I think. I was blithely ignoring it all until my sister called to ask if I was ok and then I bothered to switch on the news. An hour later and I was obsessively refreshing my twitter page to see what the latest was. Frankly, I was shitting myself. It’s not ladylike to say that or very cool to admit it, but there you go. As I lay, wide awake at 2am, I was thinking of a different contingency plan with every ‘refresh’ (damn you, android phone). I had a friend and her kids to stay. Would we get all the kids in one upstairs room and defend the front door and hall way to the death? Or perhaps we would escape out of the back door, scramble over the garden wall and sneak past the behind neighbours’ enormous dog – no wait, maybe we could enlist the dog for protection – and go to… erm, where, exactly?
My partner Trulove was resolutely sensible about the whole affair and wouldn’t even go and cover the telly up like I suggested (I was worried someone would look through the window, see it, and smash the window to get it). He was right. I was massively over reacting. That’s my way.
Now the violence seems to be over, for the time being at least. Now comes the time to try to derive some usable information from what’s happened. Who were the rioters? What were they saying (yes, saying, even if they didn’t know they were saying anything)? What can we do to let them say it a bit less violently next time? You can blame the parents if you like, but if you’re going to don’t you have to ask why the parents are so shit?
If riots are about railing against authority then the Police are an obvious target. Interesting that the other was shops, and stuff.
On the way back from the library today I passed a skip and wondered for a second why someone was throwing away all these brand-new designer clothes. I had to stop myself having a riffle through, even when I realised.