cj stone's britain: up the junction (birmingham) - corrugated plastic sheets
The Guardian Weekend was first released on November 30, 1996, and the train was suspended before entering the new train station.
It's always paused here as if to get attention to the scene.
So you look out the window, where the view of Birmingham is a crumbling collection of factories, warehouses, container yards, transport warehouses, workshops, chimneys, towers, offices, all of this is thrown together like an accident, just like a teenager emptying the mess of the bedroom behind all the drawers.
Everyone knows that scene.
Whether you arrive by train or along Line 6, the view is the same.
It gives the impression that a city is busy with its own concerns, knowing that there is something to do, having the money to do it, and putting aside any nagging doubts about the meaning of all this.
The motto of Birminghamcity is "moving forward!
"That's it, no.
You can see it on all the public buildings, below the top of the mountain.
It's like moving forward is enough, not to mention where it should go.
I was invited by Mike Parker.
He's also a writer.
I met him at BirminghamRep, where we talked about anti-culture.
There are a few of us there, passing on our point of view, conducting theoretical research, and conducting intellectual communication --
The topic of chat.
Everything was pleasant.
I said something very esoteric and optimistic. Mike said, "Yes!
"I caught his attention.
You know what's going on.
I was attracted to him.
I think it's a travel companion.
Later we sat in a boxing match and I managed to miss an outing planned with mom and dad.
I feel guilty.
Mike said: "You should stay with me next time you come.
Take back your city.
This is a good phrase.
So that's what I do now.
I'm taking my city back.
In the King's wilderness near moselli.
This is a magnificent area of Victorian times, full of piles of things and leafy alleys.
At the end of Mike Street, there was a church, shining like a dark temple.
It was built by Terracotta Warriors and has a dark polished wood that is forbidden to enter.
Things start to become unstable.
When Mike's next door neighbor came over, I hadn't been there for more than ten minutes.
She smiled at me, but she smiled very empty.
Mike walked into the back garden with her and I could see them hugging.
He's comforting her.
He came back and told me her cat was dead.
"He was the first cat I liked," he said . "
After that, his eyes often become dull.
"Mike, are you okay? " I would ask.
"I was thinking about the cat," he said, shaking himself out of his emotions.
What can you say?
Death is death, there is no compensation, there is no comfort, there is no meaning to be absorbed in reality.
It was there, like a church, sparkling at the scene.
It was a weekend of heavy losses.
We had a good plan the next day.
We have a meeting-Bus tour.
Mike said: "You should have seen the tourists speeding on the fourth or fifth day bridge and got a fright and wondered if they hadn't been there before.
"He told me it was the fourth one.
Visited the city of the country.
There's so much to see.
And, of course, NEC, which is a series of giant spaceships that look like corrugated plastic.
And the Italian junction.
Imagine doing an open top bus tour at the Italian junction.
Unfortunately, Mike was drunk and it was totally my fault.
I tend to forget that, for most people, a FIPE is not just a prelude to an overnight meeting.
We won't be able to move until early afternoon.
We went into town on the bus and got off at the cathedral, which is actually a medium --
Parish Church of the size
Then we went to the market behind the bull market.
This is a huge warehouse filled with the cheapest bits of sand in this city of bits and bits.
It's a shopping mall in Tat.
I want to buy a pair of shoes.
Next to the shoe stand, there's a guy doing the general market. spiel.
"I don't sell this 50 or even 15. . .
"No one bought it.
There was a plastic Santa who was lit up by a fairy.
Lights, and a toy car with some folds on it.
I picked my shoes and reached out to get my money.
It's not there.
I looked at the other pocket.
I looked at my trouser pocket, my back pocket, my side --
Pocket, take everything out and browse frantically.
I did it again.
It's still not there.
My passbook has my money, my credit card, my labor Club card, and my AA card is gone.
After that, my eyes would hang out a lot and Mike would say, "Chris, are you okay ? "?
"I am thinking about my money," I will answer . ".
I spent the afternoon in vain pursuing my property, rushing back to Mike's place to see if I left it there, and then going to the bank to report the lost passbook, then there was an endless telephone conversation with the police.
For some reason, they do not want to accept any crimes that have been committed.
I was sent to the office through three different police officers for almost an hour, and they all wanted to say, because I can't actually remember the stolen items, so, I can't report it as theft.
Finally, they recorded it as "lost property ".
I think it's all about saving criminals.
The local name of the city is Brummagem.
This is not an odd nickname.
Several local towns have the same prefix: West Bromwich, Castle Bromwich, and Bromsgrove.
The Doomsday Book of 1086 mentioned this: "There are five villagers and four small farmers with two plows.
"The Birmingham Manor is estimated to be valued at £ 1 per year.
But it has been growing in size and wealth since then.
By the 14 th century, the population had reached four figures.
In the 20 th century, it surpassed the million mark.
It has always been known for industry, steel processing, Goldsmiths, silversmiths and various workshops.
Brummies can turn their hands to anything.
Unlike Manchester, Birmingham has always been the city of thousands of people trading, and Manchester's contribution to the industrial revolution depends entirely on the cotton industry.
The people have admirable independence and stubborn practicality.
The British like their cars.
Almost all men are talking about it.
On any sad path
Protesters in the city may want to suggest that, even temporarily, cars are not a good thing.
They are clearly a good thing.
The city is a monument to praise cars, a city of highways and flyovers.
Lane and interior
The city ring road, like the racecourse, is busy getting there from here wherever it is.
I remember seeing a map of the West Midlands when I was a child, with Birmingham in the middle, like a huge dark stain.
Just as the city had swallowed up hundreds of villages and small towns,
In my imagination
It will cover the whole country one day.
That must be the most terrible nightmare for others.
It is natural for an Englishman.