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My Home Town

It is tiny really, when you go back there, the little grey road that ventures the length of only a few houses before curving back on itself. The pavements are tiny too; narrow enough for an average sized person and a single buggy in front of them. A twin buggy would surely overlap onto the road. Although this didn't really matter as no cars ever came down the road, only the peoples' who lived there, and they knew that it would be filled with playing children who would screech excitedly out of the way as they slowly drove into their designated spot. To me it seemed huge, but never overwhelming, like a big playground that gave me everything I needed. The houses on either side of the road could probably follow their opposite neighbours daily lives quite easily if the curtains were left open. And I'm sure they did, when they were. If you got frustrated with these cryptic images through a netted window, you could always opt for the more direct method; Sunday lunch over the melody of the Mitchell's shouting at each other next door as we did. There was no need to actively listen; it was simply there for all to enjoy, and was especially useful if you didn't have a TV.

Scream bang shout insert your swearword here and then 90s acid house music full blast until mum and dad had finished the washing up, and gave their own version of house music.
You were never alone in this neighbourhood, and never bored. For a child this was very exciting, and I think the evident household politics were secretly quite exciting for the adults too, who would often get together and talk about the other neighbours with widened eyes and overly animated gestures.
At about 7 o'clock mum would brush my fringe before spraying it with hairspray, and I'd put on my jean jacket and go outside to the street with my roller boots. It was usually cold, the yellow streetlights making the sky a turquoise colour, and preparing the day for night time, and the wind playfully repositioning my stiff fringe, and making my lips cold. But after whizzing around the block a few times I would be warm, my cheeks would be rosy and I'd forget all about my fringe. Kirsty would already be there, riding her bike with everyone else. I hadn't learnt yet, but was quite happy with the pavement. No-one else ever challenged me for it; there would rarely be a pedestrian walking down the street that we did not know, or who wasn't a neighbour and they knew the deal. The street was ours after 6.
The kids in our street seemed

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