WHERE? Oakhill Road The musty smell Litter scattered on the floor Dim light from a lamp An old woman shouting At kids playing football. She doesn't like it here. Mike Lynch Clerk Avenue Are you coming out? For a game of footy? Lend us your ball? Sure. It's round the back. Where shall we play? On the grass. But there's too many chip-papers, there's too many cars. Well, play on the park. Neighbours can't chase you there. It saves Mike the Spike from confiscating the ball. Martin Kayll Kingsley Road Hey - get away from that car! I fell off the bush onto the green grass cut my knee. People nosing out of the windows. I was scared someone was going to come out so I got up and quietly walked away. Michael Johnson Grasmere Road Let's go down to the green gates past the cars and motorbikes and play football by the substation and run on the pavement, run on the road. Some children fall on the cold paving slabs Shouting "Foul" Like a vicious dog's growl. Alan Melia Damfield Lane I run to the school gate faster than the cars, the exhausts choking me. People waiting for the bus, a man waits for his dog to catch him up under a tree's leaves blowing in the breeze. Children run up a steep hill; a child starts crying because he's late for school. I catch my breath in assembly. Brian Holland Victory Avenue Grey satellite dishes hung from houses, broken glass on the floor. Bikes leaning against walls, kids playing football, noisy and swearing. Seagulls sitting on chimneys. Cars parked on the side of the road. Dogs running about everywhere. Early in the morning as the milkman is delivering milk come busdrivers, walking to work. David Wall Drewitt Crescent lampposts small brick walls semi-detached houses, top half painted white postman on a bike old people gardening kids playing in peoples' gardens not a busy street, but lorries delivering fruit and veg and a forklift truck rumble all day at the end of the street: rotten potatoes squashed on the road, in the gutter. Gerard Pearce Wavel Avenue has tall thin lampposts with satellite dishes on a few houses; there's cars down the road to the trees, now some of them are dead. From the stones you have to duck and dive: it's the kids you know, cos they always skive. The smell is fresh, to me that is, the feeling's great but sometimes there's fighting. Now the dogs: most of them are always biting. The clouds are grey, but what is new - the sky is polluted. It's a different colour when it should be blue. Russell Wall Our Street is nothing special but there is every style of house: Elaine's is quite posh just like next door to her it looks exactly the same. There are four bungalows further down, there are some trees. Yesterday in our street outside my house Henri jumped up and hit Ramsey and gave him a black eye and a bust blood vessel. Our street is nothing special. Christopher Diamond The postman slowly cycles smelling breakfast cooking, burnt toast and bacon, as people climb from their sleepy beds stretching and yawning slobbering down the road. Children dodging lampposts as they run. A crisp packet tumbles along the grids. Carla Fletcher After rain the street smells salty clean. It's time for me to meet Claire, Emma and Diane. Shadows are moving as we walk past the red house with the blue door at the end of the silent street. We sing show songs by the lamp under the stars. Tina Trodden Balliol Road The student staggers past the bus stop as a truck rifles by, a tree blows in the wind. Smell of the sea sound of trains darting in and out of the station. The school children wait for the baths to open; the roof is caving in the walls are falling down and the fences are in need of paint. The Hugh Baird College is standing tall with people going in and out - the student staggers up to the door. A single plant stands alone in the centre of the road. David Rockway Buckfast Close "Look out there's the busys!" shouts a young car thief. They run from a green car parked on the road. "We'll go to your house." The police walk past the house. "Keep quie," one of the boys shouts. The house is silent as the boys rustle in the mess. A street-lamp bursts into life outside the house. This spreads light across the front room. "Stay down, they might look in," says the older boy. The police leave in their car. "It stinks of smoke out here," says one of the boys, "Let's get out of here. What shall we rob next?" "How about a motorbike?" Jamie Fearnchough Cople Road A cheeky boy threw a stone at a window. An old man came out with a brush And threw it like a javelin. When his mum found out she hit him across his head. Now he knows how the window felt. Paul Simpkin Deaf man yelling at the lads playing football against his wall. The lads yell abuse and run off down the street. The man shuts the door sits down and picks up his book again. Ian Clark Our park when it's dark is no place to be. Misty shadows and dancing trees are all that you can see. Half silver, half grey, the flickering lamppost stands on the dusty pavement like a ghost with time upon its hands. Cats howling in the wind, trees swaying and tall gates swinging. People comfortable inside the house - on telly someone's singing! xx