Monday, March 15, 2004
On the move again
I think I've mostly made my mind up to move if I can, as this estate just makes me nervous and uncomfortable. Apart from the grotty aspect, and the packs of prowling Darrens,there was a bad incident a couple of weeks back. I was sitting in the front room reading a book at around 9:30 in the evening, and I heard repeated and irregular raps on the wall next door. I at first put this down to kids playing in next door's front garden, but got irritated enough after a few minutes to go upstairs and have a surreptitious nebbie from the bedroom window. There was a gang of perhaps 8 kids, ranging from a young boy of around 7 to a couple of early-teen Darrens, but including a couple of girls who should have known better, who were stoning the neighbour's front room window.
So I go downstairs, put my coat on, and wander outside to ask them what they're up to. As I come out they saunter off down the road casually. I just stand in front of next door watching them slope off, not daring to run after them and confront them. There wasn't a lot I could say or do, and I certainly didn't want to mark myself out as the next target. Having been in similar gangs when I was a kid, more as a wannabe than as a real hooligan, I have a decent idea of how they think, and know that it's a very bad idea to give them grief. One thing you never do is shout, rant, or rave at them, or make any threats. This marks you out as a fun target to provoke, and once the mark is on you it'll never go away. Anyway, this lot got to the end of the street, shouted a few incomprehensible taunts at me, then wandered off.
(When I was a kid we used to do a lot of 'scrumping', ie nicking fruit from trees in people's gardens. We didn't eat any of the fruit we nicked, it was the nicking that was the fun. The quickest way of getting us to stop scrumping from your garden was to say to us that we could take what we want without bother - it was the ones that came out ranting and shouting and waving sticks and threatening to call the cops on us that we scrumped from, because it was a big adrenalin rush and damn good fun winding up the Mr Angries of Sundon Park. )
They didn't smash next door's window, but they did crack one of the panes, which is now boarded up. I know that she's had 'issues' with people on the estate, because I've heard her arguing in public with people and kids over this and that, but however unpopular she is (and she's not right popular with me, either) she, and her 3 young kids, do not deserve gangs of kids trying to stone her out of her house. That is just so out of order, and the fact that kids know they can do this sort of thing without any comeback speaks volumes about life on this estate, and also worries you that you could just as easily be the next target. Basically, people stay indoors after dark and leave the streets to the Darrens. After dark it's their turf, and although you'll not be bothered by them if you keep your head down and your eyes averted and your mouth shut, you know full well that you're on foreign territory.
Anyway, that was the incident that made my mind up about moving again, and since then there've been a number of petty incidents that have reinforced the desire. For instance, finding the street sign from outside my house pulled up, poles and all, from the pavement and slung into the school field. Or last Saturday a bunch of kids slinging around what looked and sounded like a metal gas cylinder, in daylight (good thing I can park the car off-road). Or yesterday Darrens taking turns to pile up and down the road on manky trail bikes. The list of petty nuisances goes on. Again, nothing physically threatening, but it just puts you off the place and puts that niggle of anxiety in your mind when you're in the front room and you can hear lads shouting and posturing outside. It's just a grot place to be, and I no longer want to be here - I'm too old and soft to put up with that kind of low-level aggravation, and the general squalour of the estate.
So, last week I arranged a mortgage, or rather got a mortgage quote (I can have up to 92k, not that I'd want to as that would be 600+/month repayment), with the Building Society, and today a valuer from the estate agents came round and said the place was worth 85k, which wasn't too surprising, although her saying that Bilborough houses go like hotcakes was - first-time buyers in Nottingham must be desperate. After paying off the 62k mortgage that would leave 23k. Knock off 3k for briefs, estate agents, and removals, and that would leave a 20k deposit. With the mortgage, that means I could get a house up to, say, 110k. Not that that goes right far in Nottingham, particularly in places like Wollaton and Beeston, but I might be able to cop something halfway-decent in a less grotty area. Time to go hunting in the property pages and on t'Internet....and if there's sod-all in Nottingham that I can afford then it might be time to actively look for work in more civilised parts of the country, particularly North of the Border.
Of course, even if I do find something it'll be another 3 months or so before I can move, but in case of emergencies I've got a few grand in the bank which I could use to move into rented if I became targetted for any reason. And yes, I'm well aware that I've that luxury, unlike most of the other poor fuckers in this place.
So I go downstairs, put my coat on, and wander outside to ask them what they're up to. As I come out they saunter off down the road casually. I just stand in front of next door watching them slope off, not daring to run after them and confront them. There wasn't a lot I could say or do, and I certainly didn't want to mark myself out as the next target. Having been in similar gangs when I was a kid, more as a wannabe than as a real hooligan, I have a decent idea of how they think, and know that it's a very bad idea to give them grief. One thing you never do is shout, rant, or rave at them, or make any threats. This marks you out as a fun target to provoke, and once the mark is on you it'll never go away. Anyway, this lot got to the end of the street, shouted a few incomprehensible taunts at me, then wandered off.
(When I was a kid we used to do a lot of 'scrumping', ie nicking fruit from trees in people's gardens. We didn't eat any of the fruit we nicked, it was the nicking that was the fun. The quickest way of getting us to stop scrumping from your garden was to say to us that we could take what we want without bother - it was the ones that came out ranting and shouting and waving sticks and threatening to call the cops on us that we scrumped from, because it was a big adrenalin rush and damn good fun winding up the Mr Angries of Sundon Park. )
They didn't smash next door's window, but they did crack one of the panes, which is now boarded up. I know that she's had 'issues' with people on the estate, because I've heard her arguing in public with people and kids over this and that, but however unpopular she is (and she's not right popular with me, either) she, and her 3 young kids, do not deserve gangs of kids trying to stone her out of her house. That is just so out of order, and the fact that kids know they can do this sort of thing without any comeback speaks volumes about life on this estate, and also worries you that you could just as easily be the next target. Basically, people stay indoors after dark and leave the streets to the Darrens. After dark it's their turf, and although you'll not be bothered by them if you keep your head down and your eyes averted and your mouth shut, you know full well that you're on foreign territory.
Anyway, that was the incident that made my mind up about moving again, and since then there've been a number of petty incidents that have reinforced the desire. For instance, finding the street sign from outside my house pulled up, poles and all, from the pavement and slung into the school field. Or last Saturday a bunch of kids slinging around what looked and sounded like a metal gas cylinder, in daylight (good thing I can park the car off-road). Or yesterday Darrens taking turns to pile up and down the road on manky trail bikes. The list of petty nuisances goes on. Again, nothing physically threatening, but it just puts you off the place and puts that niggle of anxiety in your mind when you're in the front room and you can hear lads shouting and posturing outside. It's just a grot place to be, and I no longer want to be here - I'm too old and soft to put up with that kind of low-level aggravation, and the general squalour of the estate.
So, last week I arranged a mortgage, or rather got a mortgage quote (I can have up to 92k, not that I'd want to as that would be 600+/month repayment), with the Building Society, and today a valuer from the estate agents came round and said the place was worth 85k, which wasn't too surprising, although her saying that Bilborough houses go like hotcakes was - first-time buyers in Nottingham must be desperate. After paying off the 62k mortgage that would leave 23k. Knock off 3k for briefs, estate agents, and removals, and that would leave a 20k deposit. With the mortgage, that means I could get a house up to, say, 110k. Not that that goes right far in Nottingham, particularly in places like Wollaton and Beeston, but I might be able to cop something halfway-decent in a less grotty area. Time to go hunting in the property pages and on t'Internet....and if there's sod-all in Nottingham that I can afford then it might be time to actively look for work in more civilised parts of the country, particularly North of the Border.
Of course, even if I do find something it'll be another 3 months or so before I can move, but in case of emergencies I've got a few grand in the bank which I could use to move into rented if I became targetted for any reason. And yes, I'm well aware that I've that luxury, unlike most of the other poor fuckers in this place.
