Bidding goodbye to my Leicester Odyssey Part 2
Menial kitchen jobs, & a taste of the city so dark and foreboding that I probably still need counselling to come to terms with it. The thing was, I didn't expect a catharthis of the soul by moving there, but this is exactly what I got. I feel this was down to moving back home, so I wasn't hiding behind being a student in a foreign town. This was my city, familiar ground. But at the same time, it wasn't. I'd never had a pint in Leicester until I was 28; I went on a date with a muslim girl when I was 20, and I had a hot chocolate in the Last Plantagenet at 12am. But it wasn't called the Last Plantagenet then, because the discovery of the remains of Richard III was 5 years away. She urged me to drink, but I explained it was too early.
So what I experienced during my time in the city was an accidental cleansing of the soul, and I never thought this could be. Toward the back end of it, certain factors came into play which changed me for good as a person, although I cannot describe them overtly. It revealed good about myself which I kept, and bad about myself which I removed. People I met, despite being strangers, seemed to impact my life vastly. A huge number of layers came into play in the city-these mutiplied when I moved from Welford Road to Narborough-utterly different areas in terms of atmosphere, crime, and living conditions. I suppose in this way I really was living in the city. Upper Welford Road was after-all a suburb, belonging to the Knighton postcode.
The Narborough road move came about when my rent increased at the Welford Road pad. I thought 'fuck it, conditions haven't improved, so I'll get out of here.'
The new place was a single box room, not enough room to swing a kitten, but it was cheap. It was mine.
Narborough road is the most diverse road in Europe, a great place to live. I didn't have to walk 45 minutes for a pint; there was a decent nightlife on my doorstep. Polish bars, full of gorgeous Polish women, decent beer. Saying that, I still missed the quiet suburbia of Welford Road, quiet save for the time drug dealers smashed the door down, then broke into a sleeping guy's room, battered him. It transpired he also dealt, and was encroaching on their patch. The fellow upstairs in the room near mine was a drug dealer as well. I will not name him.
My new street was a side road called Paton Street. Like the General with with a missing 'T'.
The thing I find fascinating about my move to the city is the almost lazy answering of all personal and growth questions I may have had-this was not consciously done; it was through osmosis, or am I overthinking this? Throughout my formative years, I avoided the city-all my peers were drinking there at 18, yet I remained firmly entrenched in Loughborough.
And among all this, what needs to be said-is the roughness of Leicester. I won't pull punches here-the place is rough as fuck. It's more apparent now when I read The Leicester Mercury online. Rapes, murders, petty assaults, major assaults, drug dealing. Yes, like any city. But it seems rife in Leicester.
Saying this, the city is BELOW the North-South dividing line, marking it as a relatively wealthy city, doing better than it's East Midlands stable mates of Nottingham and Derby. It has a larger clerical job base than Nottingham, has a football team doing better. I have realized that out of the three cities in the East Midlands, Leicester is the only one with a Latin origin name. Latin was associated with the ruling classes, authority, and sophistication.
My friend and I both said the place isn't that great for a night out, seems dead, doesn't really seem like a city. This was backed up when I was speaking to a gentleman in his mid 60's in the Cherry Tree pub. He said when he was a teen, he and his friends viewed Leicester more as a town than a city, and would venture to Nottingham instead, having a better atmosphere and buzz. I agree with him.
The second reason for my move to Paton Street was its proximity to my job; a chef in a pub kitchen. The pub is 'The Bowling Green'. I was sacked after an argument. I had no legal protection because I was still on probation period. The pub had a good atmosphere and was on the University Campus.
After my sacking, I managed to land a gig at a waste processing plant a good 50 minute walk away. The irony of moving closer to work (the pub was 10 mins away) only to be sacked, and then walk a similar distance again, was not lost on me. At the plant we would process all sorts; car batteries, bricks, dead rats, nappies, newspapers. The gaffer had a heart of gold, knew I wasn't the fastest worker, but I think he sensed good in me.
I left after 3 weeks-not out of laziness, but I had paperwork stuff to sort out for the Thailand trip, and truth be told, just enough savings to tide me over before I landed in paradise. It was, has, and still is the most formative life-changing thing I have ever done. And I've only just scratched the surface.
I sort of knew that just moving in itself was good enough this time-by removing myself from a stagnant situation up North, returning to my home county, this would create natural growth. I wonder what would've happened if I had remained up North. There were countless lonely bleak days where I would wander through Liverpool, Southport, Blackpool. Skelmersdale was the bleakest period of my life, and am grateful to have left.
The Leicester move was clearly a pragmatic, albeit not the most exciting thing to do after living in West Lancashire and Greater Manchester for seven years. Work was so much easier to come by in Leicester; at the time, only restaurant kitchen work was available to me, but that was OK. Because everywhere was busy, the hours were good, and I was able to save money. I felt cozy, comfortable, and grounded. I didn't want to be in the North anymore, although I have very fond memories of it. I have realized that periods of 7 years are small Saturn cycles, and I agree it was an important time. Not the most grown up mature time, but it still matters to me.
Saying all this, I'm not certain whether I would want to reside in the city again-the only tie I have to the place is my mouldering possessions in storage. Will I move to a suburb like Mounstorrel, or Sileby? A part of me may want to move back up North to Wigan, but this is finance dependent. I probably won't return to UK for another 10 years.
So what I experienced during my time in the city was an accidental cleansing of the soul, and I never thought this could be. Toward the back end of it, certain factors came into play which changed me for good as a person, although I cannot describe them overtly. It revealed good about myself which I kept, and bad about myself which I removed. People I met, despite being strangers, seemed to impact my life vastly. A huge number of layers came into play in the city-these mutiplied when I moved from Welford Road to Narborough-utterly different areas in terms of atmosphere, crime, and living conditions. I suppose in this way I really was living in the city. Upper Welford Road was after-all a suburb, belonging to the Knighton postcode.
The Narborough road move came about when my rent increased at the Welford Road pad. I thought 'fuck it, conditions haven't improved, so I'll get out of here.'
The new place was a single box room, not enough room to swing a kitten, but it was cheap. It was mine.
Narborough road is the most diverse road in Europe, a great place to live. I didn't have to walk 45 minutes for a pint; there was a decent nightlife on my doorstep. Polish bars, full of gorgeous Polish women, decent beer. Saying that, I still missed the quiet suburbia of Welford Road, quiet save for the time drug dealers smashed the door down, then broke into a sleeping guy's room, battered him. It transpired he also dealt, and was encroaching on their patch. The fellow upstairs in the room near mine was a drug dealer as well. I will not name him.
My new street was a side road called Paton Street. Like the General with with a missing 'T'.
The thing I find fascinating about my move to the city is the almost lazy answering of all personal and growth questions I may have had-this was not consciously done; it was through osmosis, or am I overthinking this? Throughout my formative years, I avoided the city-all my peers were drinking there at 18, yet I remained firmly entrenched in Loughborough.
And among all this, what needs to be said-is the roughness of Leicester. I won't pull punches here-the place is rough as fuck. It's more apparent now when I read The Leicester Mercury online. Rapes, murders, petty assaults, major assaults, drug dealing. Yes, like any city. But it seems rife in Leicester.
Saying this, the city is BELOW the North-South dividing line, marking it as a relatively wealthy city, doing better than it's East Midlands stable mates of Nottingham and Derby. It has a larger clerical job base than Nottingham, has a football team doing better. I have realized that out of the three cities in the East Midlands, Leicester is the only one with a Latin origin name. Latin was associated with the ruling classes, authority, and sophistication.
My friend and I both said the place isn't that great for a night out, seems dead, doesn't really seem like a city. This was backed up when I was speaking to a gentleman in his mid 60's in the Cherry Tree pub. He said when he was a teen, he and his friends viewed Leicester more as a town than a city, and would venture to Nottingham instead, having a better atmosphere and buzz. I agree with him.
The second reason for my move to Paton Street was its proximity to my job; a chef in a pub kitchen. The pub is 'The Bowling Green'. I was sacked after an argument. I had no legal protection because I was still on probation period. The pub had a good atmosphere and was on the University Campus.
After my sacking, I managed to land a gig at a waste processing plant a good 50 minute walk away. The irony of moving closer to work (the pub was 10 mins away) only to be sacked, and then walk a similar distance again, was not lost on me. At the plant we would process all sorts; car batteries, bricks, dead rats, nappies, newspapers. The gaffer had a heart of gold, knew I wasn't the fastest worker, but I think he sensed good in me.
I left after 3 weeks-not out of laziness, but I had paperwork stuff to sort out for the Thailand trip, and truth be told, just enough savings to tide me over before I landed in paradise. It was, has, and still is the most formative life-changing thing I have ever done. And I've only just scratched the surface.
I sort of knew that just moving in itself was good enough this time-by removing myself from a stagnant situation up North, returning to my home county, this would create natural growth. I wonder what would've happened if I had remained up North. There were countless lonely bleak days where I would wander through Liverpool, Southport, Blackpool. Skelmersdale was the bleakest period of my life, and am grateful to have left.
The Leicester move was clearly a pragmatic, albeit not the most exciting thing to do after living in West Lancashire and Greater Manchester for seven years. Work was so much easier to come by in Leicester; at the time, only restaurant kitchen work was available to me, but that was OK. Because everywhere was busy, the hours were good, and I was able to save money. I felt cozy, comfortable, and grounded. I didn't want to be in the North anymore, although I have very fond memories of it. I have realized that periods of 7 years are small Saturn cycles, and I agree it was an important time. Not the most grown up mature time, but it still matters to me.
Saying all this, I'm not certain whether I would want to reside in the city again-the only tie I have to the place is my mouldering possessions in storage. Will I move to a suburb like Mounstorrel, or Sileby? A part of me may want to move back up North to Wigan, but this is finance dependent. I probably won't return to UK for another 10 years.
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