This town that I'm from, like a many other town
maybe a town your from, it doesn't have the grandness of a city, this is a small bourgeois town of pity.it don't have the culture of over the water, but it has the inbreds, I've finally touched the hem of its dirt this week, i finally lifted it veil of which i always felt was so grotesque too touch, and what i saw was a scrap heap, a history of short prosperity and then dramatic needle in the arm decay!, drugs, thugs, beer in there tears, fears of queers, heroin not heroines,Neanderthal or men?, its a scary call a town that isn't going too change! black and white pictures, mainly black i look in fascination the colour brought in by modern times only seemed to take something away, the crass of black, into duller colour! this documentary i saw, it showed the life of birkenhead in 1984, and with its lack of hope you could almost believe it was George Orwell who was scripting this dystopion society! the scarp heap, the north end where scavengers trundle and bundle on regardless of infection, dissatisfaction or imprisonment, the dark ages indeed! you cant believe what was left after the fall of our shipyard, it left nothing but a blanket of thick self pity hanging in the air, dispair left to repair, thatchers rule lead to closure after closure. whats changed has changed and what too change is a lot, time will tell and may time prove me wrong, but i don't see a change coming!
