Friday, 2 April 2010

"50 Things To Do In Bradford." "What Was Number 50, Kill Yourself?"

There are times when I am in Chester when the thought 'I really miss Bradford' actually crosses my mind now and again (usually when next door are playing JLS at earsplitting volumes on a Sunday morning). After being here for nearly two weeks, I cannot for the life of me think why. This morning I was on the bus home, particularly annoyed already because I'd had to pay yet another £4 for a DayRider ticket, when a man of questionable sobriety stumbled on (suspiciously using crutches, despite the fact that he appeared to be walking fine) and plonked himself across from me. After shouting for a few minutes that this bus better go to John St. Market (it didn't), he started glaring at a group of boys at the back of the bus playing music off their phones. When he decided (after about three seconds) that he'd had enough, he decided to take it upon himself to stand (without the crutches) and shout, 'Why do you keep playing Asian music? Don't you know that's just a waste of credit? Fucking knobhead pricks!' Thankfully, and quite surprisingly, it didn't end in a fight and he got off a few stops later muttering swear words under his breath. It's good to be home! On a brighter note, I stopped at Lauren and Kelly's last night and we had a mega oldschool film marathon and watched The Goonies, Fly Away Home, Harriet the Spy, and Hook. I've never wanted to be so many different things in the space of one night. My day was also brightened when their parents gave me a massive Easter egg - hellooooo calories!

I'm back at work now, which is pretty fun on the whole, if you exclude our deli radio being taken away. All workers are now forced to listen to possibly the worst radio station known to mankind as it is played through a tanoy system linked up to the office. What makes it even worse is that the volume on it is so low that you can only hear little bits of the song every few seconds - particularly annoying when it is "Irish Jig Hour". The other day there was a song playing that repeated the lyrics 'bless you child' for about three hours, shortly followed by a jazz version of 'Here We Go Round The Mulberry Bush', a personal favourite but not something I want to listen to as I stand there and get splattered in chicken fat because some incompetent member of staff cannot hold the bucket properly. (Ok, so the incompetent member of staff was me, but that's really neither here nor there...)

At the moment I am taking a break for my ever continuing essay writing period as I seem to have hit some kind of a block halfway through. I'm meant to be writing about how the recession is affecting consumerism... Unfortunately, all I know about the economy is that Chomps have gone up to 17p and I am not happy about it. And apparently TK-Maxx have started charging 4p for carrier bags - what is that all about?! I would rather carry my hideous crocodile-skin shoes (seriously, that's what they sell) in my hands than pay 4p for a bag only to watch it later be sabotaged when some stupid pigeon gets its head stuck in the handle. I don't mean to be rude to pigeons, but seriously, all (and I stress all) the pigeons in Bradford seem to have inherited some kind of stupid gene. On average, I see about three a day almost get run over by a bus on Sunbridge Road and yet, when they see it coming at them, instead of flying off they proceed to run down the road in front of it... I don't know if they think they can outrun it or what, but I honestly do not know what they're thinking - YOU'VE GOT WINGS, USE THEM! I'd have thought the Bradford pigeons especially would be more prone to using their wings as about 1 in 3 of them seem to have one, if not two, deformed feet. Maybe they're like, thalidomide pigeons or something.

Still, there are some good things about Bradford. None that I can think of right now, but there must be something. One of my friends was telling us the other day about an article they'd been reading entitled '50 Things To Do In Bradford', to which Sally responded, 'what was number 50? Kill yourself?' There is seriously nothing good about this city, if you stood and turned in a circle, all you'd see is knocked down buildings, junkies and deformed pigeons. The other night me and Taaryn had the pleasure of being subject to a man ranting to us outside Wetherspoons about how cool we were and how he was now 'off the drugs'. He didn't hesitate to tell us he'd been in prison twice, after which we made a sharp exit back inside to make sure Sally hadn't been hit on again by the old man who had earlier sat next to her and attempted some kind of snuggling before he left. After two nights in one week, going out in Bradford isn't really something I particularly want to participate in again anytime soon. Or ever, come to think about it.


Anonymous said...

Haha! this was a brilliant read, you seem to have my exact take on things when it comes to Bradford!
I especially loved the quip about the thalidomide pidgeons, I think you might be onto something there :')
Keep up the good work, a great blog, and a great voice!

Evangeline. X

Rob-M said...

Hmmmm. Well, as a born and bred Bradfordian [Well Haworth actually, which is only 15 miles away geographically, but 'light years' away in terms of 'atmosphere']On the whole, I concur. If I had to live there now, I think suicide would be quite appealing, especially in the Winter months.I once saved a pigeon from a bird of prey in Forster Square, the Falcon [or whatever it was] looked at me, as if to say: "Oi! That was my Dinner you feckin' pigeon loving swine!"