The London Riots

It’s a relatively dull Monday. I am sitting at home watching the BBC News channel. Now, this is fairly out of the ordinary behaviour for me. I never watch the BBC News channel unless a major celebrity has died, and even then I choose to watch the much more trashy Sky News.

“Why were you watching it?” I hear you ask. Well, I was watching the BBC News channel because I was worried. Nervous. Scared. Only the night before, rioting had spread across London from Tottenham to Enfield and then to Hackney and Brixton. As I occasionally frequent Hackney and Brixton, it was sad to see two great places be overrun by mindless criminals.

I had little to do in the day so I was merely milling about until 7:45PM, at which point I’d go to the pub and meet my friends. Except, a few of my friends weren’t even in London, they were on holiday. They probably had wizard like abilities to forsee the riots in London so consequently booked holidays away. How dare they not share this intel with us lot? Anyway, we had a small party at the pub. Only four of us. After settling down and supping at my pint of Carlsberg, I noticed something very red on the television.

If you are clever enough to work this out, you will have guessed correctly that the television at the pub was showing the BBC News channel. If you are even more intelligent, you will be able to guess that the very red thing on the television was a fire. The only other thing it could be would be a large, screen wide picture of Charmeleon. However, that’d be a little odd for that to be showing on the BBC News channel unless every childs dream had come true that in fact Pokemon were real and were rampaging through Croydon. “Oh shit, there’s a fire in Croydon” I exclaimed. See, there wasn’t a Charmeleon rampaging through Croydon. It was in fact underclass yobs who were destroying the town and a very old furniture store that had survived two World Wars but was currently burning down to the ground.

It was at this point in this fascinating tale that I finished my Carlsberg. I handed my friend a £2 coin to get me another Carslberg as he was heading to the bar. He was soon back though telling me that the pub was closing up due to the riots heading our way. To compound this, I very rapidly recieved a text from my Mum asking if I could come home due to the riots.

So, it seemed that after just one pint the night was over. This only compounded my view that the rioters were scum of the earth. How dare they ruin our big night out?

At least I managed to catch Dirty Sexy Things on the telly when I got home though!

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