DYSTOPIAN FUTURE

I was walking through town tonight. It's never looked more like it belonged in a time-travel novel, as though it were some dystopian, lamplit future.

All the shops have changed. The Tapas place is a BBQ smoky ribs joint, the old video store is a poky tanning salon, and the outdoor adventure camping shop is now just called 'Sally' in pink writing. The shutters were down so I've no idea what Sally sells, but never has a name been any less 'outdoor adventure' in my opinion.

I don't go into Reading that often anymore it seems. They've even knocked down the Civic Centre! There's a gaping hole in the skyline next to the Hexagon theatre.

Most outrageously of all though, they have actually renamed Pavlov's Dog to The Pavlov's Dog.

"Well that doesn't make any sense!" I proclaimed suddenly, in the middle of the street. I think I frightened a homeless person.

Pavlov was a man! A real human being with a surname, who had real dogs he'd conditioned to salivate at the ringing of a bell. He was a he, not a the! To rename this poxy bar seems utterly pretentious, as though someone had sat around a sticky table and said, "Well look, we're famous in this town and there's only one Pavs, so let's make a song and dance about it eh?"

"Er, scuse me boss, don't you mean, there's only one The Pavs, eh eh, nudge nudge wink wink?"

"You'll go far lad. Fetch the Yellow Pages and look up S for signwriters."

I only ever went in there once. I had a substandard burger and someone was sick on my shoes. I was never drawn magnetically to associate it with 'having a good time' as some people seemed to be, and I certainly never salivated at the thought of sampling its range of slightly luminous drinks.

Things change fast. I grew up here, waiting for my pals outside Virgin Megastore (now a Metro bank), nipping into Woolworth's (Clas Ohlson) for pick 'n' mix, and queuing up for a movie at the Odeon (an Ibis hotel). Now it's mostly coffee shops and bistros it seems.

I got back to the car and drove home through the night-drizzle and headlamps. I think the trick with any dystopian future is to realise that you've changed too, perhaps more so than the world around you, and that that's not a bad thing.

A few moments later, as I sped through my childhood, I noticed that they'd put a fence around Prospect Park where we used to ride our bikes and play tennis-ball golf. Tsk.