Three Amigo’s

The world rushes by this city Sunday. The three amigos on the steps dancing, chilling, singing. Fifty, sixty or even seventy who knows? Tired faces, worn out clothes, shabby un-chic ready for anything caring for nothing. The great and the good, rush here, don’t look there. Quickly cross the street, “they might want money.”

A tape machine with tinny tones of Bob Marley ‘Jammin’ straight from 77. A hint of alcohol, well more than just a hint an early morning top up from cheap sherry hidden out of view. Takes the edge off, soothing cold tired bones.

Lookout for cops, street wardens, the bloke from the council. We’ve had complaints, this city has an image to protect. Their sort need moving on, bad for business.

The racegoers, footballists, hen partiers, stag doers, touristers or just the great and the good are what we want. Getting pissed every night in pubs, clubs, at home. No swearing, no fighting, no bleeding here. Just three amigos dancing, chilling, singing.

I wandered on looking for coffee, the day was making me mad. It felt like a theme park, a summer Sunday in York or I might just be grumpy. London prices not half. Tourists, shoppers, workers, wankers all rammed into its picturesque streets.

Queues for Betty’s and Clifford’s Tower, hens and stags on the lash I begin to wish I’d stayed at home. The minster would be good a moment to reflect, take stock, unwind. Safe behind those ancient walls. ‘Entrance fees apply’.

‘How fucking much?’ To visit a church

‘What would Jesus say?’

‘How fucking much?’

Sell it, give it away. Let the national Trust run it. Build your church in a barn, a house, a warehouse. Find something important for all the important people wandering around this ancient town to do. Standing in the queue deciding whether to pay to visit that church I felt detached from the world outside. I need to get away from this crazy theme park, York.

Stick your church up your arse I’m off back to 2016. Sixty-five million refugees yet we lavish love and obscene amounts of money on old buildings. Just so people can be important and do important things, that just aren’t relevant.

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