Look left, a heavyweight boxer dances in the corner to the rhythm of his every punch. Look up; a young artist sketches the grandiose image of angel wings onto a scaffold canvas. Listen, to the voice of the disillusioned youth through the spoken words of a blinged up poet.
"Two months ago we marched to Scotland Yard, more than 2,000 of us, all blacks, and it was peaceful and calm and you know what? Not a word in the press. Last night, a bit of rioting and looting and look around you."