Red Road

LAST week The Secret Millionaire went to Glasgow to work as an undercover volunteer with disabled people.

Property tycoon, Nick Leslau left his Mayfair mansion, and headed off to Britain’s most impoverished city to help some of its most disadvantaged residents. An area that featured was the city’s Red Road estate.

I hate “reality” TV with a passion. Back in the day, when it was all shiny and new, it seemed like a novel idea, but now it’s endlessly churned out over and over again – The Diets That Time Forgot? What the hell was all that about?

The Secret Millionaire seems to turn it all on its head though…

The standard format:

- Someone with few life skills, and who’s done little of note appears on TV.

- They spend a period of time being as nasty as possible to everyone else on the show, and bigging up their ego.

- At the end of the programme they win a load of cash and everybody hates them.

- Why? Because they desperately want people to care about them.

The Secret Millionaire format:

- Someone who’s succeeded in their chosen career, and who’s relatively famous appears on TV.

- They spend a period of time being as nice as possible to everyone else on the show, and keeping as low a profile as possible.

- At the end of the programme they give away a load of cash, and everybody loves them.

- Why? Because they desperately care about people.

They say philanthropy is a shameless form of self promotion, but among other things, Mr. Leslau gave a generous £250,000 to a centre for the elderly and infirm. One blind man was so touched with a donation to help train guide dogs, he promised to name a puppy after him.

Glasgow is miles away from fashionable Mayfair. A 2004 study by the University of Sheffield ranked it as the UK’s poorest city, with 41% of households living in poverty. Male life expectancy in the suburb of Carlton is 54, nine years less than in India (World Health Organisation Report 2008). Some blame the Curry Mile, and all those deep fried Mars bars, others underlying health and social issues.

Red Road was built to re-house slum dwellers in the 1964. The site, consisting of 1,300 homes in two 25-storey slab blocks, and six 31-storey points, dominates the urban skyline.

When first built, it was accoladed as being the highest residential buildings in Europe. Today there are no accolades. It’s notorious for crime, poverty, crack and skag, and in May 2008 the Glasgow Housing Association announced plans to raze Red Road to the ground

Despite their foreseeable demolition, the flats are eternally engrained in history thanks to a BAFTA winning 2006 self titled film. Yes, the flats will live on in the memories of residents, and in the minds of my housemates who I invited to watch it…

If the estate is bleak, then the film is bleaker. It was supposed to be a gritty insight into inner city life, and as I’m doing my MA on council estates, I thought it would be worth a watch.

However, the plot was crap, the acting was crap, there was no insight, it went on forever, and the lead female character did something so stomach churning with a condom I won’t mention it here. After the film, we all felt very sick, and Scottish Jenny told me that I was never allowed to choose a film for the house to watch again.

Here’s a trailer of Red Road, but if you choose to watch the whole thing, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Do something useful with your time and watch The Secret Millionaire instead...

Fix up look sharp...

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YESTERDAY, I took a trip to the barber. I love going to the barber. As you’ve probably guessed from my previous posts, vanity is my forte. Therefore, I love entering the hairdressers fuzzy and unkempt, like an overgrown bush, and departing looking slick and sharp and walking on air. Yes there’s no-one I respect more than a good barber.

On the other hand there’s no-one I fear more than a bad barber. When you step in that chair, you’re at the mercy of a man with a selection of very sharp instruments…

What about the dentist? You ask. Well, I admit they are also terrifying. But you are more likely to meet a barber than a dentist. You only visit the dentist once a year if you are good, or every six months if you are very good. Anyway, with the shortage on the NHS, and the extortionate fees charged by those in the private sector, many people in this country haven’t had an oral check up since the 1980s!

However, unless you’re an aging Terry Nutkins, or a angst ridden 15 year old EMO, most people go to the barbers at least one a month. Therefore, I reckon that statistically, you’re more likely to be meet your maker after taking your turn in the swiveling seat, rather than the reclining chair.

Even if you put up a fight, and escape with a few cuts and bruises, and both ears and your neck still intact, it’s likely they’ve taken a cheeky swipe out of your barnet. Despite being unharmed, your ego will have been cut to shreds, and that’s worse than death...

Furthermore, the sneakiest of assassins will engage in polite talk with you, whilst carving an obscenity on the back of your neck. You’ll only realise when you get home and by then it’s too late…

MUM: “Don’t tell me that’s fashionable these days?”

YOU: “Oh no! No wonder strangers were walking up behind me and kicking me on the way home!”

Thank goodness my barber was of the first kind. Sadly, yesterday was my last trip to Errol’s as I am leaving Sheffield shortly.

Errol is great. He is swift, friendly and hooks up a fade with precision. Despite being the sole member of staff, people are happy to wait as he lets them watch DVDs and martial arts videos. The price is reasonable, and the chat is intellectual…

“Da parents, dem no discipline the kids. Dat’s wha’ gwaan wrong wit society dese days,” he laments.

“We need to teach dem yoots respect. Ye get me?”

I nod in agreement - although not too avidly or I could end up missing an eyebrow.

Yes, Errol is a legend. He even has a claim to fame: He travelled the USA with former featherweight boxing champion Prince Naseem as his personal barber!

Therefore, Errol is officially my favourite ever hairdresser. Here’s the others who make it into the runners up places…

1. Dan – He’s cut my hair more times than anyone, and kept me entertained with jokes about Eddie Murphy, Luther Vandross, and Fresh Prince of Bel-air.
2. Gemma et al – Manicured my afro for free at the Vidal Sassoon salon. Applied funky colours as I strutted my stuff on the catwalk.
3. Jeff – Had endless fun sculpturing Kid and Play flat tops and B.A. Baracus mohawks.
4. Nariba –Braided and twisted whilst teaching me the grace of the gospel.
5. Bev – Pulled my cornrows so tightly, I couldn’t smile for a week.

Finally, here’s an unconventional barber from Memphis, Tennessee…