As I walked through the town where I grew up, to meet my brother for a Christmas drink a single thought keeps running through my mind. The thought being that Thanos might actually have been right, though when it comes to Peterborough he was only half right.
As I stroll through these dystopian streets one thing strikes me, there isn’t a single hint that Christmas is only a few days away. Not a single light or scrap of tinsel. What there was however were literal piles of rubbish in the street, graffiti and the overwhelming putrid smell of decay.
Every corner seemed to be inhabited by some undesirable who would be more likely to stab you than say Merry Christmas. As I carried on my walk I passed a gang of about 20 youths, none of them older than 15, they seemed to be in the early stages of a mass brawl. I moved on quickly as they pushed, shoved and shouted at each other, spilling over from the pavement into the heavily trafficked road.
I finally found refuge of sorts when I met my brother at the dingy pub he’d selected, to be fair to him it was the best of a dire bunch. After a few flat, watered down pints we went to leave. Upon walking out of the pub we were immediately greeted by a lone policeman trying desperately to diffuse a violent altercation between several very intoxicated men. It was 4:30 in the afternoon.
Fortunately I have now moved away and I won’t be returning to Peterborough for a very long time.