A Change is Gonna Come…
Monday, June 26th, 2006My Gym shares its building with the local school, and I noted this morning that a couple of doors down from the entrance to my own chamber of horrors is the entrance to the safe space that the school has created for the kids. I know; makes it sound like I’m living in Hell’s kitchen (but Hells Kitchen about 20 years ago; have you been there lately?) Whatever, we live in the Valley of the trolley Dollies, a place where the worst thing that could possibly happen is for the flightpath into nearby Gatwick Airport to be redirected over your house. Where the most dangerous thing that could happen would be to step into your south-facing sunny garden (all the gardens in the valley of the Trolley Dollies are sunny and south facing; the real estate agents said so, so it must be true) and look skywards as a fifty pound block of blue ice accidentally dropped from a late running BA flight (the 117 from JFK, say; or the 502 from Lagos) landed on your head. Imagine: Death by piss; Bludgeoned to extinction by a hundredweight of frozen turds.
But I digress…
The safe space is a place where the kids can go to talk about their problems, to just be away from the world, to try to get their heads sorted and make sense of a world that is confusing for the most mature, but chaos for them. Grownups (except for the counsellors) aren’t allowed into the safe space. Grownups, you see, have their own safe spaces; their own places to bemoan their troubles, cry, ask why Doris Harbottle doesn’t like them, and seek some order in the universe. They’re called pubs, and, in direct retaliation for the exclusion of adults from the safe space at Trolley Dolly High, kids are barred from pubs. In theory; the sunny south facing beer garden of the Manky Toad often resembles a school outing: Dozens of empty glasses and, bottles of WKD strewn amongst the fag ash, rizlas, half eaten ‘steak’ burgers, and empty pill bottles; fights, cries of ‘Why Doris?’ and wretching into the trash bins. And that’s just the teachers.
But back to the safe space this morning…
In the window was a poster. A plain black block, with the following words printed on it:
‘You can’t change your past; but you can change your future.’
Obvious, really. Trite, possibly. But I liked it.
I’m changing my future. Right now. Step by step. The big one – not really a change; more of a formalisation – is on the 15th of July. And after that? Well, nothing good lasts forever. And I’m feeling the need for some changes, so we’ll see. I have plans.
I’ve got flat feet too, but that’s another story…
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