Notting Hill Carnival
The Notting Hill Carnival is one of those sacred times of the year for muticult types, those who wish to revel in filth, be assaulted by very loud ghetto music and prove how hip and right on they are.
I thankfully don’t live in Notting Hill, although I do travel through it, and last Monday, in some moment of madness I thought I would risk traveling through Notting Hill on my way home, it was late, so I wrongly assumed the event would be over or at least winding down. Well, I was wrong.
I should have turned around when I saw the mounds of rotting rubbish everywhere one looked, but I continued on, further into the swirling vortex that is the carnival. I walked through streets filled with rubbish, stinking portaloos overflowed on the side of the footpaths, vomit, shit and piss almost everywhere one looked, but that was not the worst of it.
Packs of snarling black youths where on the hunt, glaring at me as I walked past and in some areas attacking police with bottles and stones, police helicopters hovered overhead, streets were cordoned off and guarded by dozens of officers. Whole streets where normally one would see shops where now boarded up and already the boards where full of graffiti, houses where also boarded up, there were police check points, and looking down one street I must have seen about one or two hundred police officers marching up the road. It was chaos.
It didnt look like London, it looked more like some third world hell hole in a state of war!
As I carefully picked my way through the filth strewn streets trying to get out of this nightmare, the stink of this potpourri of human waste, rotting fast food and stale beer began to make me feel sick, how do people stand it?
I have never been one for crowds or noise, especially ‘ethnic’ events such as this, I can’t understand all those people who go there every year, it seems like a punishment.
But I now know never to go anywhere near Notting Hill around the August Bank Holiday!