And if there was one place that encapsulated for me everything about Birmingham I was so desperate to escape, it was the British Leyland car factory. The factory spread like a stain at the foot of the Lickey Hills, one of Brum's rare attempts at scenic splendor marred forever by the sprawling complex of buildings.
When I was a kid my Dad told me that during the war they had painted the roofs to look like country lanes, so that the German bombers wouldn't be able to target the factory. Pity some fucker hadn't climbed up there and painted "AIM HERE ADOLPH" in big red letters.
Those bombers could have done succeeding generations of school-leavers a huge, unwitting favour by bombing the miserable place into the ground.
There were just two ways I could see out of the working class trap that would have me sucked through those factory gates and chained until brainless to the track. I could either become a soccer star or a rock star. Even at that age I knew enough to realize I didn't have the necessary skills to become a soccer star. Unfortunately, I didn't have the sense to realize that the same about becoming a rock star.
Causes Luke James Supports
Doctors Without Borders