Houses boarded up, a mixture of soggy bits of paper, puke and cigarette butts carpeting the streets, people in all kinds of bad states passed out in shop fronts if they were lucky... That's the sight I was met with when I arrived at the Notting Hill Carnival in the early afternoon of Bank Holiday Monday.
The carnival has changed. For my parents, it was a place where they could assert their duality - as Jamaicans living in England. For me and my sibling, it was an opportunity to wave a Jamaican flag alongside others, whilst pretending we were in the Caribbean. Now, the carnival feels like a great big raucous party.