â€œAny unit near Mash Town that can attend fear for welfare, female has threaten to swallow numerous anti-depressants-ambo waiting for back up, please respond with call signâ€
The proactive lads had got there first; I could hear their reluctance as they were identified on mapping. â€œVehicle 8, please respond will call signâ€ Control asked humourlessly. A long silence held, then a boisterous voice piped up â€œYea Xray33 thatâ€™s us, we can makeâ€. Thereâ€™s no hiding from controlâ€¦
As soon as Soph and I arrived, 33 couldnâ€™t wait to dump it on us. I didnâ€™t really mind, theyâ€™re not proactive stuck in a council flat. Itâ€™s like a blast from the past in Mash Town, the 2 story terraces surrounded a plot of 5 houses in the middle and a single, battered stretch of tarmac leads out to the main road. The roar of the motorway is a reminded that this patch is not as rural as the encroaching trees suggest and haze over the clubland is always present.
Kids play in the street, while adults with their arms crossed stare at us as we get out the panda. I confidently stride across the patchy grass, a leather clad man follows us with his eyes, his misses is singing in the kitchen, kids run between the furniture outside and through the open front door. Plastic wheels scrape on the pavement, broken toys are scattered across front gardens and an old mattress is being utilised as a trampoline. In the short time I spent there, I observed adults passing freely into their neighbourâ€™s houses, each coming and going as they please. All chain smoke while swanning about and chatting a million words a minute. Orders are barked at a girl to get home, pizza can be smelt and a dull repeating bass vibrates the walls.
Its dark inside the house, black laminate floors throughout the house ensure little light is reflected and the long faded wall paper has lost all its 1970â€™s character. DVDs, book, lampshades, newspapers, xbox games, old stereos, TVsâ€¦ all clutter the walls and floors. A female is huddled between the ambo crew, â€œIâ€™m fucking ill! I need a fucking dripâ€ the girl bellows.
One of the ambo guys looked at me, he was professional, though a raised eyebrow betrayed him and a sly smile crept across my face. The girl had not taken a load of pills, she just wanted a little attention. Forgive me for not being sympathetic, but I have little when you respond to bollox jobs like this all day. They are just wasting our time.
â€œWhatâ€™s going on outside?â€ The ambo lad asked as he nodded towards the street. I shifted my weight and ginned â€œIts Mash Townâ€¦â€ and the guy looked confused, looked out the door at the kids playing, coming and going and he laughed. â€œOh I see, weâ€™ve perfected the art of time travelâ€