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Jul. 8th, 2004 01:20 pm
Life in a Northern town
I've finished Jury Service. The guy came round at about 11:30 and said anyone not on a trial was free to go and it was all over. So, I didn't get to sit on a single case. Ah well.
Since it was still comparatively early, I decided to have a wander around Bolton. I stopped by the Orange phone shop and had a word with a nice young man who apparently skipped the "sales" portion of his sales training. This was actually for the best as I wasn't looking to buy there and then anyway. I've decided I'm quite taken with the Handspring Treo, but it's bloody expensive. Will see...
I decided to have lunch at McDonalds, and so I sat, with my big mac and fries, by a window, watching the world go by. It was at that point that I realised I don't belong here. I looked out and saw all the people walking past and realised I wasn't like them at all. Old ladies with tartan trolley-bags and tar-stained fingers, young men in business suits that still failed to mask their scally origins, scrawny, bent men with shaking hands and glazed eyes, waiting for the pub to open.
It's not my world, any of it.
Lads wearing knock-off tracksuits from the market, with the trousers tucked into their socks, and those ridiculous burberry baseball caps, pregnant girls in pink leggings, pushing their firstborn spawn around in a hand-me-down pushchair, smoking roll-ups and talking on the latest shiny mobile phone.
It's not a pretty picture. I have to leave, before I become an old man, with brown trousers up to my chin, leaning on the bar ordering a pint of mild and smelling faintly of wee and extra strong mints.
Where's my CV...?
Since it was still comparatively early, I decided to have a wander around Bolton. I stopped by the Orange phone shop and had a word with a nice young man who apparently skipped the "sales" portion of his sales training. This was actually for the best as I wasn't looking to buy there and then anyway. I've decided I'm quite taken with the Handspring Treo, but it's bloody expensive. Will see...
I decided to have lunch at McDonalds, and so I sat, with my big mac and fries, by a window, watching the world go by. It was at that point that I realised I don't belong here. I looked out and saw all the people walking past and realised I wasn't like them at all. Old ladies with tartan trolley-bags and tar-stained fingers, young men in business suits that still failed to mask their scally origins, scrawny, bent men with shaking hands and glazed eyes, waiting for the pub to open.
It's not my world, any of it.
Lads wearing knock-off tracksuits from the market, with the trousers tucked into their socks, and those ridiculous burberry baseball caps, pregnant girls in pink leggings, pushing their firstborn spawn around in a hand-me-down pushchair, smoking roll-ups and talking on the latest shiny mobile phone.
It's not a pretty picture. I have to leave, before I become an old man, with brown trousers up to my chin, leaning on the bar ordering a pint of mild and smelling faintly of wee and extra strong mints.
Where's my CV...?