I live on a noisy street. Every day, a cacophony of barking, billowing trash and motorbike maintenance makes leaving a window open an exercise in patience. On certain days, depending on the weather, I can tolerate it for longer than about ten minutes but in most cases I'll open it for a sense of ambiance*, that particular feeling of connectivity that it offers, and slam it shut as another of West Avenue's world's-best rows kicks off and the fat and the furious commence their daily gulderance. Barely 24 hours will pass without a screaming match in the tarmac arena below my first floor flat. Occasionally I'll spy in case something interesting transpires (someone got a clout once) but in most cases I don't need to hear about whether the tanned lady's boyfriend is a cunt just because her nan's only after dying.
Another flavour in the sonic stew is the screaming. I'll often ignore it as best as I can because there are a few kids about the place and they tend to do that, but at the same time someone was murdered here last year.
Oh yeah, someone was murdered here last year.
I don't live in the best part of Crewe. I live in one of the most murdery parts, yeah, but not one of the best.
So I can't really tell if the screaming is that of kids, like this:
Boy 1: "Oy, Ben Ten, it's high time I, Robbie Rotten, got the better of you. Avast ye, I have a stab with your name on it!"
Boy A: "Oh, oh no, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH. Right, my go to be Ben Ten."
Kids at the craic. Maximum craic**. Kids love it.
OR if it's badness, like this:
Rocco Coyle: "Alright mate, have you the time?"
Innocent Man: "Oh, hold on 'til I get my phone out here..."
Rocco Coyle: "Aaaa, you munter, that's what the fuck I want, you wanka. Gimme your phone and gimme your money. I want all of it. Give it to me now."
Innocent Man: "No way. I bought this phone with the money, and I earned the money. You can't have them."
Rocco Coyle: "Right, I'd best stab you then. But: for REAL."
Innocent Man: "Christ's beard! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH"
To be honest I'd probably fall into the Seinfeld gang mindset and not to anything about it if a Rocco Coyle was doling grief round the street but I WOULD feel bad about it. I guess what I'm trying to say is that ever since learning someone did a killing on my doorstep, I can't rest easy when I hear shrieks of joy in case they're actually shrieks of bleeding. Craic or badness? I never had to ask myself that in Dungannon.
|The scene of the crime? VERY PROBABLY THE CAR WAS INVOLVED|
* Magazine etiquette dictates the italicization of foreign words, yo
**Blogger wanted me to change this to "maximum Craig", and I was tempted but didn't want to compromise the integrity of the article by serving the whim of a digital dictionary but I can guarantee the next post I write WILL be called Maximum Craig
For more and more and MORE visit Rambleast right now, GO NOW. Today's Spider-Man article's a doozy. This post was sponsored by Wild West Honey BBQ Beef Jerky for the mout' and Crystal Maze for the 'baws