Its the same in any London borough in
the summer months. Alfresco eating; seasonal music wafting through the open
windows of the myriad bedsits and self-contained flats; beer gardens; tops off;
smiles; shouts; whistling; fruit stands; the smells of summer permeating the
air.
In this particular borough on this
particular day a street party had been arranged - live music, muslin-clad women
selling their wares, ramshackle, temporary bars, a flower-painted kids
play area and various tents tending to various needs.
Twelve oclock things kick off
kick off is a strong word as in reality the street party eases into existence.
Mothers with children stroll through the stands admiring what is on offer,
soothed by the easy reggae-tinged music the stall handlers try not to
betray their nervousness at the slow start.
Mid afternoon and the crowd begins to
thicken, the average age of attendees increases as the hours pass. The music is
getting louder, the stall handlers less nervous as the growing crowd spend the
disposable income they have scraped together. People have saved up and are
determined to enjoy themselves, putting the threat of Monday firmly to the back
of their minds.
Drinks are passed around easily and readily
no-one is drinking too much but nor are people being inhibited. All is
relaxed and good-natured people are beginning to dance, laugh, shout as
they embrace the growing atmosphere.
Early evening and the drink begins to take
effect. The shouts get louder as does the laughter. The babies in the strollers
have been strolled home. The traffic in the surrounding streets increases. Cars
arrive full of the young and free, determined to have fun, music pouring out of
the open windows. The sound system increases in volume the nature has
changed. Its for the adults now but the mood is still good people
smiling, laughing, hugging, dancing, pushing against each other. Drinks are
spilled but theres always more to come. The summer weekends promise an
endless joy. The people embrace it. This is their moment. The street belongs to
them.
Late evening and the first changes appear.
Two drunks are told to leave the area by the sombre-suited security man.
Shouting, swearing and threats ensue. Its a one off bad apples.
One hour later, a couple leave arguing, the man has the woman gripped firmly by
the back of the neck, recalling past infidelities and transgressions. She
argues her case but the grip gets stronger until she is nearly doubled over
with the pressure. More cars arrive; more crowds spill out. The mood changes.
People are aware of the growing tension. They feel the atmosphere darkening.
The music gets louder; the dancing continues; the drink flows; the cars
empty.
Around midnight. The shouts increase in
volume. They sound increasingly aggressive but they are diluted by the music,
muffled. A crowd gathers. The revellers pay no attention. They continue to
dance, to drink, to gyrate. The shouts from the crowd increase, the invective
grows stronger. A scream pierces the air and the crowd suddenly disperses. A
young man lies exposed, alone on the ground, lifeless. Within minutes the
sirens can be heard in the distance. The music continues; the crowd moves away
and continues to dance. The cars continue to arrive and people continue to eat
at the surrounding cafes and al fresco restaurants.
Its the same in any London borough in
the summer months.