City during night-time a drunken and intimidating place

From: Barrington Lawlor, Lofthouse, near Wakefield.

I FOUND myself entertaining in one of the main hotels in Boar Lane, Leeds, for a corporate function that was taking place there.

Arriving early on Saturday, February 25, I was able to see the audience whom I was to entertain arriving with ladies in their evening gowns and their male counterparts in black tie and dinner jackets so well behaved and polite prior to their attempts to drink the hotel dry!

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One of the points that took my attention was how nice the evening dresses looked but were sadly marred in many cases by the blatant tattoos that the dresses failed to hide.

How things have changed and today these can be seen on every street corner and my understanding of the word “chav” has finally found recognition.

Not to be outdone, some of the men had invested in body art also, with hands displaying the standard love and hate and drawings of bird’s heads escaping from under their evening shirt collar which again brought back memories of my childhood when I drew on my skin with a ballpoint pen thinking it would look attractive to my peers. However, at that time I was only four!

Parking at the hotel was a far more difficult task than expected and the only option was to park in the nearby National Car Park. However, given the fact that I had not taken out a mortgage to fund this, I decided to seek on-street parking and after driving around for some time managed to find a space under the dark arches near the very flamboyant and luxurious Cock Pit venue prior to walking back to the hotel.

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After my entertaining spot came to a close, I left the hotel and fought my way through the army of smokers shivering on the doorstep of the hotel who were now in the main also worse for drink.

I was now faced with the task of walking back to my car through streets packed with young men and women who in the main were also the worse for drink (or other substances).

A group of young men called out abusive comments to groups of women from across the street, asking them to show parts of their anatomy.

In the main the men were in my observations the closest I have ever come to the cast of the Second World War film Schindler’s List. An army of hairless “holocaust” look alikes sporting skinhead haircuts that turn a 20-year-old young man into a senior citizen with their unshaven face, sporting football shirts that were in the main were ill fitting.

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How standards have changed, where years gone by men took a pride in their appearance with clothing that was made to fit rather than today’s one size fits all. Trousers were pressed prior to going out rather than today’s “slept in it” designer look and the general dishevelled appearance that the world calls fashion.

As I walked back to my car at a brisk pace, my concerns were of not having my briefcase forcibly stolen, feeling intimidated and unsafe to be alone amongst this drove of drink-fuelled youth.

With no police presence and the only security seen that of the gangster-style doormen that every hotel and public house sadly has to display in the hopes of wording off potential trouble, I felt relieved to reach my car.

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