Oak Tree Farm is a housing estate you would not want to come across
accidentally. It should be avoided at the best of times, never mind
when things have deteriorated - like the hopeless, delinquent
locals who are better off tethered to leashes within the pebbledash
walls of dated maisonettes. It is the season of goodwill, seven
days before Christmas. The estate has exploded in an angry cloud of
overturned vehicles; the secondary school sits slumped in a pile of
smouldering ashes after a respected local Rastafarian, Leroy, is
falsely arrested on suspicion of manufacturing a new drug. You do
not pick and choose the environment you are born into,
unfortunately. Bored kids need occupying. Dads are absent or
unknown; useless mums are too preoccupied with everyday living,
pregnancy, alcohol and making ends meet on the dole, to care where
their kids are. So when left to their own devices there is little
choice for youths but to fail at life so miserably. After ambushing
the new guy - as ill-luck would have it his family has just moved
into their best mate's former house - the youths take to the
streets to preserve borrowed liberty for a while longer. Wouldn't
you do the same if you had just killed someone? They are lucky to
be born with three career choices: prison, the local asylum, or
death. All they need to do now is take their pick. No rush. But can
salvage appear in the form of Uncle Leggy who arrives at No. 142
Round Close Court to look after his sister's three good boys when
she is admitted to hospital heavy with child, or is life simply a
case of damage limitation? Youths like this serve very little
purpose. Some would argue they serve no purpose at all.
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