I love to go for a walk around the streets of an old city at night, in this case, Lincoln.
The winter season has its own atmosphere.
People huddle behind high zipped up jackets and scarves.
Just the eyes of some women make you wish to see the full picture.
Young hoodies with dark shadows where the face should be make you wary.
They spit and smoke,walk with round shoulders in a semi crouch, phlegming chewing gum onto the pavement. The streets of England are paved with chewing gum.
I walk past a large group of women standing outside a blingy looking building.
This is the queue for the Bingo Hall.
They are cold and huddled, arms folded to keep the tits department warmer.
They are all smoking.I have seen these women before in Hobart; these are the same faces, the same lined, stressed faces sucking in smoke, conversation meaningless.
I used to see them sitting at the rear of the Casino where I walked almost every night for my constitutional.
Are these people addicts; are they so desperate for similar company? Do addicts love the company of other addicts?
My only addiction is playing music. I love the company of others similarily afflicted but so many of them won’t share my company.
I am a lonely addict.
The fascinating subject of addictions: alcohol, drugs, tobacco, sex, work, coffee, caffeine, the sea, adrenalin, music, gambling etc.
There is a desperate and ignored need in the UK for places where people with problems can go and just talk about their lives.
What do we get instead? Pubs, casinos, tattoo parlours.
It’s the same all over the English speaking world.
Why?
