give them a name.'
Lizzie shakes her head in disbelief.
'I don't understand any of this.'
'Nor me.'
'They're talking about it like it's an epidemic. How can it be? It's not a disease, for Christ's sake.'
'It might be.'
'I doubt it. But there has to be a reason for all of it, doesn't there?'
She's right, but like everyone else I have no idea what that reason might be so I don't bother answering. Watching the news makes me feel increasingly uneasy. It's making me feel like shutting the front door and not opening it again until all of this sudden violence and disruption has stopped. I instinctively start trying to come up with an explanation to try and make myself feel better if nothing else.
'Maybe it's not as bad as they're making it out to be,' I suggest.
'What?'
'They always exaggerate things on the TV, don't they? They've just been saying something about an increase in the number of violent incidents being reported, but that doesn't necessarily mean there's been any increase in the number of incidents actually taking place, does it?'
'Not necessarily,' she says, sounding unsure.
'There might have been just as many fights as last week, but they weren't newsworthy then. Problem is when something like this makes the headlines people start jumping on the bandwagon.'
'What are you saying?'
'Maybe this whole situation is something the TV and newspapers have created,' I say. I'm making this up as I'm going along.
'It can't be. Something's definitely happening out there. There are too many coincidences for…'
'Okay,' I interrupt, 'but if they haven't created the problem they're definitely making it worse.'
'What about what happened at the concert on Friday? And in the pub? And whatever was going on with that car last night and what happened at school this morning… are you saying that all those things would have happened anyway? Do you think we're reading more into them just because of what we've seen on TV?'
'I don't know. There's no way of telling, is there? All I'm saying is that we've seen things like this get out of control before.'
'Have we?'
'Of course we have. It happens all the time. Someone somewhere broadcasts a story, then a brain-dead section of the audience copy just to try and get themselves on TV or on the front pages of the papers.'
Now I think I've really lost her. I can tell from the expression on her face that she doesn't understand. Either that or she doesn't believe me. I'm not entirely sure about this myself.
'Don't get you.'
'Remember dangerous dogs?' I ask. She shakes her head and screws up her face again. 'A few years back a kid round here got attacked by their neighbour's pet Rottweiler, remember? The kid's face got all messed up and she needed surgery I think. They had the dog put down.'
'So? What's that got to do with what's happening now?'
'Point is until that story broke hardly anyone had heard anything about dogs attacking kids, had they? But as soon as it made the papers there were suddenly stories about the same thing happening all over the place. There was a bloody epidemic of dogs attacking kids. Now you only hear about it happening once in a blue moon again.'
'What's your point? Are you saying that those kids didn't get attacked?'
'No, nothing like that. I guess what I'm saying is that things like that must happen all the time but no-one's interested. As soon as it makes the news, though, people start to report it and before you know it you've got dogs biting kids on every street corner.'
'Not sure if I agree with you,' she says quietly. 'Still not even sure I know what you're talking about. There's never been anything on this scale before…'
'I think that these idiots,' I explain, pointing at the TV, 'are doing more harm than good. By giving these people a label and giving them airtime they're glorifying whatever it is that's happening and blowing it out of all proportion. People are seeing the violence and the glory and rebellion on TV and they're thinking, I'll
Maggie Brendan
Barbara O'Connor
Jan Washburn
Terri Blackstock
Norah Simone
Barry Kemp
G.P. Taylor
Alan Cumyn
Linda Barnes
Lisa Jackson