They can’t make a pizza, spicy slop is a perfect description. It’s hard to understand how something can be over spiced and bland at the same time but they manage it.
The ethnicity of the homeless is always telling. The clannish, tribal, insular foreign communities already have internal mechanisms to mitigate that, yet they’re the ones who receive all the support from the state.
I left Britain (London) 15 years ago and several people I know back home are in constant precarious work and housing situations. Yet more than half of social housing is occupied by foreigners in that city.
Was literally just on the phone with an old mate who might find himself out there in -5° tonight.
True, he doesn’t help himself in many ways. But if such “safety nets” exist, and they do, he should have had access to them.
Pockets of comfort which remain are used to deflect the decline. You're expected to be thankful that these places still exist, as they aren't a given anymore.
Mention the Somali barber and you'll be told "then go somewhere else".
Mention the pizza slophouse and You're told "don't eat there then"
Mention our 4 homeless people and you're told "it's their own fault".
Yet as the millionaire footballer is worshipped, we know that we are better than this, and it's just not right.
But we live in a world where "the football barbershop slop Happy Meal" is economically viable.
"Ten years ago, I was regarded as hysterical, and my diatribes were met with rolling eyes and sarcastic yawns, but not any more. Now I find myself the centrist, the cooler head."
Same, albeit in a different country. Maybe time has tempered the initial rage. It is likely an experience common to others who saw the approaching train earlier. Were we ever as outwardly angy as the late adopters or were we self-tempered because we were outliers and therefore viewed as nutters at the time? It is hard to know.
"It was both reassuringly familiar and yet strangely cold, oddly hollowed out or exhausted, in an intangible way. Not in the drastic, shattering manner in which other parts of the country have shifted in terms of identity."
The cultural husks we retain, at least for now, are less infuriating than the outright skinsuits that are deliberately designed to humiliate, but they still manage to inspire cold, well-deserved anger. The threat of imported violence is a distant second to the cold acknowledgment that these crumbs, infinitely less spicy than in the past, are a feast compared to what most others are now served.
Pubs are, to some extent, British reservations within the YooKay borders. Recently, I had a short stay in Tower Hamlets and even there a nice pub could be found serving proper food and ale. The clientele was of the more gentrified sort, but largely normal and not at all representative of the surrounding caliphate.
Interesting that you touched on the coldness. I tried a 'big' night out recently and found the atmosphere strangely absent. I don't think people are as able to be as relaxed as they once could. Less mainstream, more local pubs can still be good places for a drink though.
Or my old local, large but cosy interior with dark carpet and wood panelled walls, now painted over with grey and a new carpet that even a Deano would find repellent. Not even the old regulars could bring life to such surroundings.
Glad to hear from you, Morgoth. For a couple of days, I thought you might have indeed been shived, or shanked, or whatever they say now. Aye, that feeling of things being still there, yet hollowed out, is a depressingly familiar. Still, you had a better time than my last 'for old time's sake' outing, a bleak return to Bradford in April last year. There was, without exaggerating, virtually nothing left of the pubs, on what is one of the biggest cities.
I am an American who visited working class pubs in places like Blackburn and Preston quite a bit from 2002 - 2018. They were always pleasantly surprised to hear an American accent in their local and would pepper me with questions about the US. I enjoyed them though sad to hear they may be declining.
I was a student in Newcastle in the mid eighties, loved the place, and had my first pint on the first day in The Three Bulls Heads. It was a very masculine place, but in a good natured way, and is far and away my favourite city. I was there a few years ago and it still seemed to have much of its old charm. Never buy pizzas from anyone other than Italians is my advice, and don't let Somalians touch your hair under any circumstances
Thank you. This was really bittersweet to read, the rememberance of times past. It's not nostalgia, it's a deep pang of fear for the future and loss of our past. Happy New Year to you and everyone.
I last went there on a hen night in 2015 don’t recall seeing any non whites, the people were super friendly. Glad you didn’t have problems though in truth you rarely see them in pubs. Your bus journey in is coming for every town. My town was 94% white in the census but in the last few years we’ve had loads of African families, many people ask me where they have come from and I can’t answer them as I genuinely don’t know.
The amount of people that have asked me that "where are they all coming from?" question over the last couple of years...
I can even hear the exact tone and blend of perplexity and exasperation in their voice, but all I can do is shrug and suggest "Africa?"
Probably not the most helpful answer I know, but I don't know either and there seems to be much ambiguity regarding their specific countries of origin, that I can't help but feel is patrtly deliberate and intentional.
Beautiful article, sir. I have been ruminating on it for hours. I think every generation feels nostalgia as they start to reach middle age, but that's not quite what you're describing here. There might not actually be a term for it. It's a quiet, hopeless sense of loss as we realize that not only are those special times over for us, but that something similar won't be experienced by our descendants. All public spaces are being warped, twisted, simultaneously corrupted while being sanitized.
Ironically it may have better that you were in a football crowd, even having zero interest in the game, for it meant some cover from any tyrannical bluehaired barmaids this time!
I'm about the same age and couldn't do 7-8 pints anymore without making a fool of myself so congratulations on that. 3 pints is my limit when 'out' though happy to have more at home afterwards
Great article! But why did you abstain from such a pub tour for "years and years"? Was the reason just other obligations or was it a conscious decision to avoid potentially unpleasant experiences?
No, really it was because I became comfortable in a few local pubs that didn’t require me to travel into town and deal with the tumult. So I’d always argue for staying local.
Apparently, they were playing Burnley, not Aston Villa.
They can’t make a pizza, spicy slop is a perfect description. It’s hard to understand how something can be over spiced and bland at the same time but they manage it.
I was thinking that was a bit of a paradox, but somehow it's true!
The ethnicity of the homeless is always telling. The clannish, tribal, insular foreign communities already have internal mechanisms to mitigate that, yet they’re the ones who receive all the support from the state.
I left Britain (London) 15 years ago and several people I know back home are in constant precarious work and housing situations. Yet more than half of social housing is occupied by foreigners in that city.
Was literally just on the phone with an old mate who might find himself out there in -5° tonight.
True, he doesn’t help himself in many ways. But if such “safety nets” exist, and they do, he should have had access to them.
Pockets of comfort which remain are used to deflect the decline. You're expected to be thankful that these places still exist, as they aren't a given anymore.
Mention the Somali barber and you'll be told "then go somewhere else".
Mention the pizza slophouse and You're told "don't eat there then"
Mention our 4 homeless people and you're told "it's their own fault".
Yet as the millionaire footballer is worshipped, we know that we are better than this, and it's just not right.
But we live in a world where "the football barbershop slop Happy Meal" is economically viable.
Heartbreaking but beautiful, Morgoth.
"Ten years ago, I was regarded as hysterical, and my diatribes were met with rolling eyes and sarcastic yawns, but not any more. Now I find myself the centrist, the cooler head."
Same, albeit in a different country. Maybe time has tempered the initial rage. It is likely an experience common to others who saw the approaching train earlier. Were we ever as outwardly angy as the late adopters or were we self-tempered because we were outliers and therefore viewed as nutters at the time? It is hard to know.
"It was both reassuringly familiar and yet strangely cold, oddly hollowed out or exhausted, in an intangible way. Not in the drastic, shattering manner in which other parts of the country have shifted in terms of identity."
The cultural husks we retain, at least for now, are less infuriating than the outright skinsuits that are deliberately designed to humiliate, but they still manage to inspire cold, well-deserved anger. The threat of imported violence is a distant second to the cold acknowledgment that these crumbs, infinitely less spicy than in the past, are a feast compared to what most others are now served.
Happy New Year, written without irony or sarcasm.
Thanks, Jack, and Happy New Year.
Pubs are, to some extent, British reservations within the YooKay borders. Recently, I had a short stay in Tower Hamlets and even there a nice pub could be found serving proper food and ale. The clientele was of the more gentrified sort, but largely normal and not at all representative of the surrounding caliphate.
Interesting that you touched on the coldness. I tried a 'big' night out recently and found the atmosphere strangely absent. I don't think people are as able to be as relaxed as they once could. Less mainstream, more local pubs can still be good places for a drink though.
It's like the difference between old warm neon lights and those hard and cold LED ones.
Or my old local, large but cosy interior with dark carpet and wood panelled walls, now painted over with grey and a new carpet that even a Deano would find repellent. Not even the old regulars could bring life to such surroundings.
Even a Deano! That tickled me, for I know a chao just like that, actually called Deano.
I'm glad that true pubs still exist in England. I think English ale is the best in the world and I loved drinking them in woody old pubs without TVs.
Glad to hear from you, Morgoth. For a couple of days, I thought you might have indeed been shived, or shanked, or whatever they say now. Aye, that feeling of things being still there, yet hollowed out, is a depressingly familiar. Still, you had a better time than my last 'for old time's sake' outing, a bleak return to Bradford in April last year. There was, without exaggerating, virtually nothing left of the pubs, on what is one of the biggest cities.
Yeah, I didn't want to overdo it on the state of Newcastle, some places have far worse.
I am an American who visited working class pubs in places like Blackburn and Preston quite a bit from 2002 - 2018. They were always pleasantly surprised to hear an American accent in their local and would pepper me with questions about the US. I enjoyed them though sad to hear they may be declining.
I was a student in Newcastle in the mid eighties, loved the place, and had my first pint on the first day in The Three Bulls Heads. It was a very masculine place, but in a good natured way, and is far and away my favourite city. I was there a few years ago and it still seemed to have much of its old charm. Never buy pizzas from anyone other than Italians is my advice, and don't let Somalians touch your hair under any circumstances
Thank you. This was really bittersweet to read, the rememberance of times past. It's not nostalgia, it's a deep pang of fear for the future and loss of our past. Happy New Year to you and everyone.
I last went there on a hen night in 2015 don’t recall seeing any non whites, the people were super friendly. Glad you didn’t have problems though in truth you rarely see them in pubs. Your bus journey in is coming for every town. My town was 94% white in the census but in the last few years we’ve had loads of African families, many people ask me where they have come from and I can’t answer them as I genuinely don’t know.
The amount of people that have asked me that "where are they all coming from?" question over the last couple of years...
I can even hear the exact tone and blend of perplexity and exasperation in their voice, but all I can do is shrug and suggest "Africa?"
Probably not the most helpful answer I know, but I don't know either and there seems to be much ambiguity regarding their specific countries of origin, that I can't help but feel is patrtly deliberate and intentional.
It feels both grim and hopeful that I come away from this relieved to hear that parts of Old England are still alive despite the pests.
Beautiful article, sir. I have been ruminating on it for hours. I think every generation feels nostalgia as they start to reach middle age, but that's not quite what you're describing here. There might not actually be a term for it. It's a quiet, hopeless sense of loss as we realize that not only are those special times over for us, but that something similar won't be experienced by our descendants. All public spaces are being warped, twisted, simultaneously corrupted while being sanitized.
Exactly, thanks.
Ironically it may have better that you were in a football crowd, even having zero interest in the game, for it meant some cover from any tyrannical bluehaired barmaids this time!
I'm about the same age and couldn't do 7-8 pints anymore without making a fool of myself so congratulations on that. 3 pints is my limit when 'out' though happy to have more at home afterwards
Great article! But why did you abstain from such a pub tour for "years and years"? Was the reason just other obligations or was it a conscious decision to avoid potentially unpleasant experiences?
No, really it was because I became comfortable in a few local pubs that didn’t require me to travel into town and deal with the tumult. So I’d always argue for staying local.