I know that many of you have been on the edge of your seats, trembling with anticipation over the day when I would finally regale you again with a story about Eric Clapton's son, who goes to boarding school up the street from me in Sheffield. Okay well, maybe no one was really waiting for this day but now that it's come, I bet you're at least a little excited? Mildly enthused? Anyone? Anyway this story is in the vein of those Pick Your Own Adventure Books from the early 90's, so play along (anyone else remember those? I actually hated them, I felt they were a sign of an indecisive author but after writing this I'm beg. to think they're highly underrated)...
Last night, at approximately 22:35 pm I was walking back to Halifax Hall after watching King Kong at the union. It was. sadly, the highlight of my weekend. But this story isn't about my pathetic life, every minute of which is spent in anxious anticipation of my departure 35 days from now, it's about the events I witnessed on this fateful spring night on Glossop Road.
I walked briskly, but without any sort of fear seeing as Sheffield's reputation as the safest city in England is well-earned, I once walked home from the union at 2 in the morning without ever seeing another soul. I decided not to listen to my iPod and instead sang that hymn that goes "My God you are my god and I will ever praise you..." under my breath as traffic passed me intermittently. Wearing a skirt, jean jacket, and scarf I was feeling quite comfortable and cheery even, a rare mood for me since I am usually brooding over the stupid papers I have due in the next two weeks. That is until I reached the intersection of Glossop and Endcliffe Vale Road, where I live.
You see across the street (**see photo) from this intersection is one of the Top 3 Reasons I Love Sheffield, the Botanical Gardens (The other 2 Reasons being it isn't Paris and Wokmania, the local Chinese buffet). These gardens are simply beautiful especially now as spring has come. The crocuses and daffodils are all out and it's just gorgeous. I walk through it every day to school, and I've even on two extremely rare occasions jogged through it. I've had quiet times in the Botantical Gardens, everyday I watch mum's and dad's with their kids playing there, and I've even teared up in them after listening to a particularly moving sermon on my Ipod. And I've watched the caretakers, mostly older men take care of the garden, planting, weeding, and mowing; extremely precious.
So you can imagine my horror when, on this pleasant English night when I witnessed several hooligans (teenage kids), all male, congregating across the street by the side entrance of the Botanical Gardens. You see, the Gardens close at 4 pm every day, they lock up the two entrances till the next morning. As I get closer and closer to their position across the street, my jaw drops in horror as I realize what is going on. They are SCALING the freaking wall (don't ask me how, they just run, jump, and climb over. I couldn't do it, I have an extremely low vertical jump)! They are breaking into the Botanical Gardens. They throw each other knapsacks across the wall and I still can't believe what I'm seeing.
:::::ATTN:If you wish to choose the optional Eric Clapton's Son version of the story, continue reading, If not, scroll down to the More True But Less Interesting ending:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
It's him. The same hooligan I saw months ago on a structurally unsound ledge near my hall, chain smoking and generally causing mayhem. Eric's Clapton's son (who wil henceforth be known as S. of E.C. for son of Eric Clapton). Not only am I outraged that these kids may or may not be causing damage to my beloved Botanical Gardens, I am now equally outraged that Eric Clapton's son's therapist clearly isn't up to par seeing as he is engaging in criminal activity in order to get attention from his celebrity father. Sigh. It's tough being famous.
I cross the street in a rush, grabbing one of them by the sleeve before he jumps, Michael Jordan-style up onto the wall. "Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" He looks at me with hardened but sad eyes and points up to the top of the wall where, sure enough, S. of E.C. is sitting. "Oy", he cries. "What do you think yer doin' lady?" I shiver as it's getting a little colder since I stopped my brisk walking. "I just want to talk", I call up. "You don't need to do this". "Yeah", he replies. "And how would you know?". He slides down off the wall, and leans, arms crossed against the stones. "I know it's hard. Living in the shadows" I say softly. "But breaking and entering...criminal activity? It's not worth it. People work hard to make these gardens beautiful. They're for the community. If you destroy that, you'll only be hurting yourself. Not your father". "My father?" he interrupts, "What do you know about my father". "I know he's a multi-platinum award-winning rock god, with a string of hit singles and my parents bought his recent album "Riding with the King" a collaboration with B.B. King which we listened to all the time in the summer of 2000". "Oh" he replies. He pulls out a pack of smokes and offers me one, his voice confident and tough but his eyes betraying the hurt inside. I accept the cigarette which he lights, but don't inhale because lung cancer kills 160,439 people every year.
"Look," he tells me, "I don't know who you are, or where you came from...actually I'm guessing you came from America based on your accent, but that's beside the point. My boys and I, we just like to have a little fun". "Oh, so you want fun?" I ask casually, looking at the other teenage boys standing around who have now let their guard down and seem more scared than excited to vandalize public gardens. "I'll show you some fun. Why don't you come with me?" They try not to let on, but I can see that I have peaked their interest. We walk together across the street, and towards Halifax, exchanging jokes and laughs over all the "danger" lurking around Sheffield, and they regale me with tales of their boarding school and funny impersonations of their headmaster. I tell them all about Chicago and Noodles In a Pot and the Art Institute and Sufjan Stevens, and listen to albums on my computer while I teach things about the Protestant Reformation under Elizabeth's reign and we play Yahtzee and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which of course they love.
It starts to get late and I gently remind them that they don't want to break their curfew and get in trouble. They agree and S. of E.C. says to me, "Thanks Lexy." "For what?" I reply. "You know...for this. For keeping us from doing something we would regret. And you're right, I should just talk to my dad. Open those lines of communication." "It's the key to a healthy relationship!" I remind him. "And I can't believe I was going to try and mess up the gardens. What a stupid thing to do. I actually really love the day lilies, they are my favorite." "Mine too", I reply knowingly, "Mine too". "And I won't forget to that signed vinyl copy of the acoustic version of Layla for you". "Take your time bud" I say.
I wave good-bye as they walk back up the street toward the boarding school, yelling "Good night! See you later!". "Kids these days", I think to myself, and head up to bed.
::::ATTN: More True and Less Interesting Version starts here:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
I just couldn't believe that some stupid hooligan kids were going to sneak into the Botanical Gardens and vandalize them or worse destroy the foliage. I just pictured the look on those precious caretakers faces tomorrow morning. So I called the cops and reported their asses. And even if it makes me a narc, I really don't care and I'm glad I did it because I love those frakking gardens.
The End.
**View of the Botanical Gardens from Glossop Road
