Revolution on the riverbank

It's the usual story, one that has a depressing frequency and predictability. Repeated acts of vandalism have left elderly residents living in fear of their lives. There have been smashed windows, kicked-in fences, litter and mindless graffiti. What else could graffiti possibly be?

Retirement homes in the area have been targeted over several months, with the tops of walls demolished, spoiling residents' gardens. It is impossible to calculate the distress, upset and misery that has been caused.

Yes. You are now entering sunny Ronkswood. Ronkswood gives a warm welcome to careful drivers...

True man of the people that he is, Councillor Mike Layland as usual champions the victims' cause. The police say they are aware of the problem. This paper runs a leader condemning a perpetrators. And that's it - until the next time.

Cut to Worcester's riverside, any weekday lunchbreak. The technical college regurgitates its charges, who crash-land on the footpath like a flock of starlings, pecking, spitting and strutting.

School is out, no more classes for an hour or so. Yippee. Cans containing fizzy drinks are drained, then flung into the river naturally. It's cool, isn't it, didn't the national newspaper say so?

Chip papers are thrown on to the ground, then the joints are rolled for a quick turn-on before returning to lessons. The air rapidly becomes heavy with the sweet, sickly smell of cannabis. In order to spice up the proceedings, a firework is hurled in the direction of the swans on the river. Great fun hey, watch those birds shift. Now that's ultimate cool, man.

Worcester's finest. Enjoy your promenade from Quayhead to Watergate. For if the ciderheads don't get you then the stonethrowers will. And if you want to sit down, there's always that bench embedded in the river mud, thrown over the railings at North Quay.

If you think this is the product of a feverish imagination then check out this state of affairs for yourself. Go on, take a look especially all you councillors who prefer denial mode. Yes, if you want to view the cream of this city's delightfully dysfunctional in all their glory, just spend a few hours down by the riverside. You'll see every type of humanity except one variety. A species known as the police officer.

I accept that there is, of course, nothing new in the middle-aged cursing youth. It was the same in my young days and no doubt will always be so. Except it actually is worse now. No doubt about it.

There is a growing minority for whom the anti-social approach is now the norm. And doesn't British youth seem strangely polarised at the moment? On the one hand there is the mindless vandal, devoid of morality, behavioural sensitivities, or set of beliefs. He or she seems unaware of the wider world, the all-consuming need to make someone else's life a misery the only aim in an otherwise aimless existence.

Then there is the tiny minority that has hogged plenty of headlines in recent weeks the young Muslim fanatics holding British passports who have vowed to fight for bin Laden against British service personnel. Interesting, isn't it?

On the one hand there is the fizzy-drink-fast-food-reared moron with no sense of community, nationality, heritage, religion or wider responsibility. Why, they can't even be bothered to learn how to play guitars these days.

And as for our oldest welfare organisation, the Army, the fact is that the recruiting sergeants are just not interested in pudgy yobs with feet rendered lily-soft thanks to years of wearing trainers. You could also say that's interesting, too.

Meanwhile, across the cultural divide, fresh-faced zealots call for the downfall of the Alliance forces and the demise of the British Prime Minister. Demonstrators in our major cities dream of the day when minorities are the majority and religious fundamentalism displaces the old, Zionist-led order.

As far as their impact on current events are concerned, recent developments serve to muddy the waters of this complex society of ours even further. What you basically have here is the home-grown yob of indigenous background, lacking any thought for others, devoid of patriotism or any sense of place and cultural identity.

Then, at the opposite end of the void, stands his counterpart, someone whose allegiance is not to this country but instead to a foreign state a power for whom he/she is gladly willing to die.

Without doubt, such a person is obviously a traitor to this country. And if the Northern Alliance doesn't do us all a favour and pick him off, then any British passport holder, on return to this country, must surely be prosecuted for treason.

Nevertheless, part of me has a sneaking admiration for such a perverse demonstration of principle, treacherous though it may be. For it's a heady brew, this concept of young persons albeit misguided who actually believe in a cause for which they are prepared to sacrifice their lives.

I can't imagine those who terrorise British council estates having the guts or intellect to make such a gesture. Can you?

However, the net effect of this war on terrorism has forced people to take sides. And while there are multiculturalists who genuinely hold the notion of integration close to their hearts there are many others who conspicuously fly it only as a flag of convenience.

But the message must now go out loud and clear. Britain is a rock built on belief. It is not a hotel for those who just fancy a quick doss without spiritual commitment, somewhere to quit when a better billet comes along.

All this leads me to wonder if our native youth could ever be shaken from its torpor. I mean, exactly what would it take another Spanish Civil War, Munich Crisis, an obscure foreign royal being bumped off in Sarajevo?

Just what, exactly, would it take for such individuals to forsake creature comforts and settle for a bit of hardship and danger in the name of belief?

Or am I being uncharitable here? Are we talking about a slumbering giant, who, like Drake's Drum, will suddenly become activated if our shores were ever threatened again?

Well, I haven't the answer to that one. But I do know this much. While traitors to Britain ally themselves with the enemies of the country that nurtured them, back here in Blighty, it will be business as usual for Sid Yobbo and his objectionable, spotty mates.

Yes, from Ronkswood to the riverside, the rebels without a cause will be conducting their very own jihad. And it's against their own people. As Mike Layland so aptly put it: How would these vandals feel if it was their grandparents or parents who were being targeted each week?

Quite.