Hater

doesn't take much to impress a four year old…
    'Your Uncle Keith's gone into hospital again,' Harry says, turning around to speak to Lizzie who stirs and sits up.
    'How's Annie coping?' she asks, covering her hand with her mouth as she yawns. I don't bother listening to Harry's answer. I've never met Liz's Uncle Keith or Auntie Annie and I don't suppose I ever will. I feel like I know them though, the number of times I've had to sit here and listen to endless trivial stories about their empty lives on the other side of the country. This happens most Sunday afternoons. Liz and Harry start talking about families and reminiscing and I just switch off. They'll talk constantly now until we go home about people I've never heard of and places I've never been.
    'Mind if I put the football on?' I ask, noticing the time and stumbling on a way of keeping myself awake. Both Harry and Lizzie look up, surprised that I've spoken.
    'Carry on,' grumbles Harry. He makes it sound as if watching the match will stop him talking or prevent him from doing something more important. Truth is he likes football as much as I do. I switch on the TV and the room is suddenly filled with noise. I swear he's going deaf. The volume's almost at maximum. I turn it down and I'm about to change channels when I stop.
    'Bloody hell,' I say under my breath.
    'What's the matter?' asks Liz.
    'Have you seen this?'
    I point at the screen. It's the same news channel I was watching last night. It's the same story too. The violence I'd seen reported appears to have continued to spread. It looks like a wave of trouble has washed right across our town. Although it looks quieter now the screen shows pictures of damaged buildings and rubbish-filled streets.
    'I saw this earlier,' Harry says. 'It's a bloody disgrace if you ask me.'
    'What's happened?' asks Liz.
    'Haven't you seen any news yet today?'
    'You know what it's like in our house, Dad,' she replies as she shuffles around to get a better view of the screen. 'We're last on the list when it comes to choosing what we watch on TV.'
    'You want to start putting your foot down,' he moans, looking directly at me, trying to get me to bite. 'Show them you're in charge. You should never let children rule the roost like that.'
    I ignore him and answer Liz.
    'There was some trouble last night,' I explain. 'I saw it before I went to bed. There were a few incidents around town which got out of control.'
    'What do you mean, got out of control?'
    'You know what it's like in town on a Saturday. If there's a night when things will kick off it will always be Saturday. The streets are filled with idiots who are pissed-up and off their faces on drugs. The police can't cope with them as it is. Apparently it all started with a fight in a bar that got out of hand. More and more people got involved and it turned into a riot.'
    'Grandpa, we saw a fight yesterday,' Ellis says innocently, looking up from her colouring book. Harry looks at Liz who nods her head.
    'It was horrible, Dad,' she explains. 'We took Ed to a party at the Kings Head. It was full of football fans. We were having a meal and two of them started fighting.' She stops speaking and checks that the children aren't listening. 'One of them had a knife,' she says, her voice a little lower.
    Harry shakes his head.
    'It's a sad state of affairs, it really is,' he sighs. 'It's almost as if people go out looking for trouble these days.
    The room falls quiet momentarily.
    'Hang on,' Lizzie says suddenly, 'did you say this trouble happened here?'
    'Yes,' I answer, nodding my head, 'why?'
    'Because this is talking about somewhere else,' she says, nodding towards the TV. She's right. This report is coming from another place further north, and now they've cut to a third reporter on the east coast.
    'It's mob violence,' Harry chunters. 'It spreads. People see something on TV and it makes them want to go out and do the same.'
    He might be right but I doubt it very much. This doesn't make sense. I can't imagine that these people are all fighting just for the sake of it. There must be a reason.
    'There must be more to it than that,' I say. 'For Christ's sake, Harry, do you really believe these people were just sat watching the trouble on TV one minute and then were out on the streets fighting the next? These riots are hundreds of miles apart. There must be more to it.'
    For once he doesn't answer.

    Another twenty minutes and the children have reached and exceeded their boredom