Statement

St. Martin's Lane is a one-way street. I'm walking in the same direction as the traffic, hurrying along the gutter, keen to get home. I feel the loud, heavy bass as much as hear it pumping from the stereo of a car behind me. The music is aggressive - overtly masculine, hip-hop - and I turn to look behind me, expecting a large black SUV with tinted windows and personalised number plates. Instead of the cliché, a small silver Smart car pulls into a parking space, a bespectacled white guy behind the wheel, and I laugh out loud at the disparity.