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p13
'Stokey and the millennium Sue...write,' instructed the Editor of
this esteemed organ to the sound of me thumping my head rhythmically on the PC.
 Personally
I intend to be as far away as possible from N16 when St Mary's Church clock dongs out the
witching hour of Y2K. Preferably in a five star crofter's cottage on the Isle of Bute
stuffed to the rafters with crates of bubbly, a carefully hand-picked selection of very
old friends and lots of lachrymose playing of Robert Dylan Esquire around 4 am.
Why shan't I be ensconced in N16 ? Because I think people will go berserk, running up and
down Church Street 89 sheets to the wind, stuffing fireworks up the jumpers of innocent
passers-by, vomiting on doorsteps and leaving five tons of rubbish in their wake which
Hackney Council will take 3 weeks to clear up because all their computers have exploded.
Anarchy is always bubbling just below the cheery waterline of Stokey, twitching faintly,
biding its time to burst forth. December 31st 1999 is an embossed invitation. And that's a
Best Case Scenario as far as I'm concerned.
There will of course be various interesting, if somewhat restrained, parties dotted around
off Church Street stuffed full of folks who serve on the same Board of School Governors
together, play games of tennis and walk their dogs in Clissold Park. On the stroke of
midnight they'll inwardly muse on how they can climb that old career ladder's final greasy
rung whilst pretending their N16 social conscience is still fully intact.
Proceedings may degenerate into Spin The Bottle if enough wine gets drunk, the humdinger
question being, 'Is your child privately tutored ?' cue heavy silence while everyone gazes
at their Timberland specials.
Dirty, smelly, friendly, laid back old Stokey is due a major wake-up next year. The
Leisure Centre could FINALLY get finished, Clissold Park's lottery money will come
through, the Great Traffic Scheme may, or then again may not, be sorted out and we may yet
see the proposed plans for better transport links.
The first million-pound Stokey house has already been sold and I guess there will be
considerably less shops on Church Street selling second-hand tat.
Gradually the demarcation line between Church Street and High Street will become more
solid and adept at repelling invaders. Then it might just be possible to leave your front
door without tripping over piles of punctured Carlsberg cans, empty crisp packets and
discarded spare ribs. It might also be nice in Y2K not to have to schlep my six-year-old
daughter across North London to get a half-decent education.
Glory Be to change I say and a Happy New Year To All My Readers of the pierced and
non-pierced persuasion. See you again when the dustmen have finally been.
Sue Heal is a freelance journalist and media consultant
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