Trinity Mead, Stratford upon Avon is, in my opinion a pleasant enough place to live. All human life is here. From the theatre lover to the drug dealer. From the piss-head to the pensioner.
In line with a lot of ‘recent-builds’ it has nooks and crannies. By which I mean there are segments of the estate which are quite ‘posh (ish)’ and others I wouldn’t touch with your proverbial barge pole. But on the whole, as I said, Trinity Mead, Stratford upon Avon, is quite pleasant.
It reminds me very much of the notorious estate I grew up on in Bristol. Hartcliffe. Hartcliffe, started off as a wonderful thing. For people moving out of a cramped and partially destroyed London in the 50’s it was the height of luxury. Indoor toilets, bathrooms even a garden. Unfortunately, Hartcliffe was physically out on a limb. It only functioned as a living, breathing thing because there was a bus service. To cut a long story short, once public transport began to disappear, so did everything that made Hartcliffe what it was. Community spirit died.
I’m not saying that the same will happen to Trinity Mead, Stratford upon Avon. I’m just pointing out the fact that Trinity Mead will need nurturing if it is to survive and not become something it was not designed for. I.E. A Ghetto.
Anyway, back to Trinity Mead, Stratford upon Avon.
I live in one of the nooks. A very quiet place (except for the occasional barking dogs), that is surrounded by other buildings turning it, at times into a sort of cavernous, echoing place. For instance, at the moment there is total silence. Nothing (maybe the slight hum of a distant aeroplane). Lovely.
This is how it will be until someone decides to break the silence with a noise that is outside of the norm. A sound that none of us is expecting. In other words, not a bark, not the throb of music. When the unexpected happens, everyone in the ‘canyon’ hears it because it bounces of the brick walls like something out of ‘The Sound of Music’.
The other day was a fine example.
A neighbour of ours (and her boyfriend) decided to have ‘it off’ in the garden.
Now, me being a bit naïve had heard her cries of pleasure on a number of occasions and usually just thought, ‘blimey, I wish she’d close the bedroom window’. I have since been informed by er…shocked others that the reason their sexual activities were so loud and noticeable, was the act was being performed under the stars, on their back lawn. Not only that, if you happened to go upstairs in your own house and look through the bedroom window (which of course, I never did), the sex was there, like something out of Pornhub (whatever that is), for all to see,
The last thing I want to present as is a prude. My own history is to say the very least, chequered and I have done one or two things I have regretted. At times I was a very naughty boy. However, my naughtiness had standards. For one, and this is the whole point of this tame diatribe…we/I made sure that Children were not affected by our waywardness.
Yes, my friends, the reason for this post and why I am so annoyed (annoyed enough to write a ‘Shocked of Stratford’ Facebook post) about my neighbour’s sexual activities is…it frightened my Grandkids.
The sight of two supposedly civilised human beings grappling on the back lawn, one of them is screaming and shouting in what we adults know as ecstasy but innocent eyes would interpret as pain, is just not on.
It can be damaging to young minds to see such sights, plus the fact that one day I will have to explain it to them.