Observations.

Several years ago, there was public debate on whether gambling should be legalised in Britain. For some it was a chance to regulate and tax a sinister yet lucrative industry, while to others, it was the last threads of society’s moral fabric beginning to loosen. As a result, there was a bid to turn the historical Alexandra Palace building into a casino, a fort filled with slot machines and forged opportunities. Local people opposed the proposals, believing that such a place would become a hub for organised crime, drug trafficking and men in well-tailored suits with overbearing cufflinks. Residents signed petitions, approached local media and with the backing of a few MPs, had meetings with planning commissions and won and Alexandra Palace remains casino free to this day. But as the locals cheered and celebrated their success with rounds of cider and letters to editors, strange phenomena began brewing in Haringey, an ever increasing amount of bookmakers started to emerge. Whether it be the classic brand of William Hill, or the culturally themed Paddy Power, these establishments began to surface in their droves, so much so that one day, I took a walk from Wood Green to Manor House, a journey of a few miles and within that space, I ran out of fingers on which to count them. 

To live in an area that is one-third fried chicken establishments and two-thirds bookmakers falls into the theorems of conspiracy theorists the world over, that corporations and councils do not have the interest of the public in the forefront of their minds, that providing a landscape of poor nutrition and presenting the idea of financial stability as a pipedream, is social engineering in its most rudimentary form and is only another way of keeping the least among us poorly fed with their retirement hats hung on the results of the 2:20 at Cheltenham. To others, this is just the make-up of any urban city, that there will be areas of deprivation but these areas are populated with individuals who are able to think, infer and make the necessary and relevant choices that will add value to their existence. That there happens to be an influx of bookmakers is clearly coincidental and to believe that a person is a product of their immediate surroundings is as insulting as it is assumptive.

However, in my slightly addled mind, I find the entire situation a deplorable state of affairs that feeds into my plump sense of apathy and disdain, for it appears that what people considered a victory, is nothing short of a well-groomed PR stunt, a moment of feigned victory for the locals and falsified defeat for those above, that has allowed a much more socially acceptable form of the proposed idea to manifest in record numbers.

Today I saw a William Hill, next to a Paddy Power, opposite a Ladbrokes and next to a fried chicken eatery, all underneath a housing estate that is meant to provide shelter to the least among us. The least among us. This is what is considered to be a suitable environment for the least among us.