Didn’t really like that weekend. It was all about back in the day.
First there was anti University harping back to stuff in 1968 and irrelevant to everyone I knew even my Marxist mates who never knew anything about the uprisings in Shoreditch then.
Then I was doing my own Headscarves research with octogenarians and their memories and opinions about the triangular headscarves women wore in UK 1950s.
I went along to The Streets London Festival with joy in my heart and a toddler in tow.The audience was predictable in a session or two where locals were invited to love their neighbourhoods. It was Leyton so the new Leyton Village lot were there in their low slung jeans and I saw enough white bum cracks as those early morning punters juggling Fred and Lily’s nap times sat on cushions motionless to African drumming. Sure I was there in the eighties. The venue contributed to past glories too what with it being the magnificent back rooms of the old Leyton Town Hall. Super.
The culmination of the weekend was stark in its absurdity. As Up Your Street I’d applied for Waltham Forest Christmas Dinner aka lunch for fellows sans emails and wherewithal to phone in. Third year running they all got sought after ballot won seats at table and I got none. Not Going Out.