Mexborough High Street
As I make my weekly Saturday trip down the street, I find the centre a bustling thriving place. This is the last day for newsagents Neil and Carol, who are moving on after 20 years in the town; I prefer their shop because it is welcoming, and also because they knock money of periodicals and amazingly undercut the two main supermarkets. It's been a pleasure shopping with the couple, and I wish them well.
The scaffolding has been up around the dismantling old building for so long, I wonder if they will need planning permission soon as a permanent structure. It can't do the town many favours, having it boarded off so long with dire danger signs on it. It was above that area that the scourge of my life, dentist Mr Girffith (whose wife Yvoone, I think, taught me RI at Swinton Comprehensive). I ran away from his gas and pliers one time too many, and my mam said she would never go with me again, and she didn't - I had to face my demons myself and go willingly, alone. As a child, a visit to Mr Griffith was always followed by a visit to the bouncy-floored Woolworths for a toy, my gums bleeding. If only you tell a kid that too many midget gems will wreak havoc with their teeth, I would be a happier person now, and have more teeth probably...
Published Date:
24/03/2007
Modified Date:
24/03/2007
By train to and from Doncaster
Notes from a commuter
Sometimes I despair, but most of the time it's just a feeling of frustration. Traveling to and from Doncaster each day unpeels the sadder side of life.
More often than not there's one or two people who just taint the journey, young people, obviously, who see no irony in demanding respect while simultaneously showing none for any of the long-suffering work-weary horde who pack the cariages each day. People who just want to complete the journey without making eye contact or being abused.
Main annoyances are:
- People with 80 pound trainers trying to avoid buying a 3.50 ticket by hiding at the back of the train, dodging in the toilet or coming up with some pathetic excuse.
- Parents who ignore their children while they scream and scream until we're all sick of them.
- People who shout intimate details down their mobile phone.
- People who play speeded up gibberish on their mobile phone so everyone can hear it.
- People who use the f-word as punctuation, who spit (yep, actually spit on the train).
And so on...
The conductors do their best, but there's no authority on these hell trips.
And, looking at the next generation of kids in pushchairs, your heart aches for them, because you know full well it isn't going to get any better.
Published Date:
11/03/2007
Modified Date:
11/03/2007