We had, last Sunday, The Leicester Caribbean Festival, here in Victoria Park. I usually stroll across and am generally in favour of the event. It is truly multi cultural and brings a sense of excitement into the city, with some elaborate floats on the backs of lorries and stalls selling Jerk Chicken and Goat Curry, all washed down with gallons of Red Stripe. There’s a lot of loud reggae played and a stage with a live act. Everybody has a good time and the law turn a blind eye to those smells that waft through the air, taking one back to college days. The whole thing’s over as the sun goes down and everybody goes home. What I can’t understand, is why they can’t take their rubbish home with them. A brisk walk across the park the following morning revealed an army of private contractors picking up a sea of litter, mostly called Igor and Perestroikavitch. The Caribbean community was not well represented. But, by lunchtime you wouldn’t know anything had ever happened.
