Stupidity of Neds

In the last few years I've been here, I've heard of -- and finally witnessed -- an odd phenomenon. Groups of young adults will set fire to something, and then when the fire engines are called in, would throw things at them and chase them off. Apparently this has been going on for far longer than I've been here. This generally increases in the fall in the lead up to Bonfire Night (Guy Faulkes Night).

During the weeks before Bonfire Night, fireworks are sold in grocery stores. The tradition is that families and friends would get together, maybe have a bonfire, and then light off some fireworks. That doesn't officially happen until November 5th, though, so all those fireworks in the supermarket get eaten up by bored teenagers and young adults on their week-long fall break.

Tonight, whilst in the middle of my yoga, I heard a commotion outside on the street. Typical Scottish yelling "FUCKING [blah blah blah] FUCKING [blah blah]", but this time it was punctuated by a clang and a dog's deep barking. I opened the curtain to peek out and saw a fire engine slowly maneuvering over the speed bumps down the street to leave the neighbourhood while being followed by three running males. They were actually chasing the fire engine. I didn't see where they went after that.

I would call the police, but what with the victims being fire fighters, the police most likely already know. And my vague description of "two or three males between 5'6" and 5'11"" wouldn't be very helpful.

I simply do not understand how this is a sport to them. I can understand throwing bricks and (what sounded like) metal at police cars, being that they may get hassled by the police regularly anyway, or even trains, being that most of them have probably never left their own street. But fire engines? These are men and women who put their lives in danger so that your fancy big screen TV won't be destroyed by your neighbour's chip pan fire! They're generally working-class people without much education, but with courage and a sense of duty. Not posh! So why attack them? There is no logical reason for it.

The only reasons I can think of is that maybe they didn't want the fire fighters to put out whatever fire they had started. Either that, or there's some historic grudge against fire fighters. Fire fighters do have a history of going on strike in this country, for example, once in 2002 and even (apparently) the other day in Yorkshire. But even then, the vast majority of the population seems to think that fire fighters shouldn't be attacked.

I sincerely hope that those hoodies die in a horrific chip pan fire.

PS Happy Bithday me.

The Bird Man of West Pilton

My part-time job finishes at 12:30pm. If I take the bus home, I usually get in around 1 or 1:15pm; if I walk, I get home around 2pm. When I arrive home, I feed the cat and then open the curtains to our patio door and then sit myself on the sofa for my afternoon of leisure. (Or, at the very least, lunch and a chance to catch up on my social networking.)

At roughly 2pm, the Bird Man of West Pilton turns up the street that runs past our patio door. I call him the Bird Man of West Pilton because I only notice him because of the noisy flock of seagulls that follow him, periodically swooping down onto the street to eat something I can't see from the sofa.

He's an older man, with long gray hair, usually wearing a denim jacket, and walks a little hunched over, as if the denim was just a bit too thin for the Scottish winds that blow over the Forth. He usually carries a bag from Lidl or that Frozen Food a few blocks away. It used to be that I could tell the time from hearing the birds.

He doesn't come by so often anymore. I've never spoken to him, so I'm not really sure why the birds follow him. I suppose he feeds them. Not many people would feed the seagulls over here - they're considered rats with wings who aggressively invade rubbish and even shoplift and have raised the anger of the local councils. Yet this fellow seems to be loved by seagulls. I suppose he's just one of the local colour.