Teenagers: dream and reality
On Saturday night we got together with a group of friends to watch "Juno". And very sweet it was too. The pedants among us - yes, me included - were trying to guess where the film was shot. I thought it was Wisconsin, but it turned out to be British Columbia. (Which is, as Misha Glenny has discovered, one of the hubs of the modern cannabis trade. Having spent time there, I'm not surprised. Anyway, I don't recall any mention of drugs in the script, though I could be wrong.)
I'll admit I did have the vague feeling that the screenplay sugar-coated things a little. But it was just a movie, after all. Less than an hour after it finished came news that my eldest son had been beaten up by gatecrashers at a party. He was kicked and punched while he was on the ground, apparently, and passed out at one point. Because he wears a pacemaker, and because he was disoriented when he finally reached home, we had to call out the paramedics. He's still groggy. It's all in the hands of the police now. As far as I can tell, the kids responsible were middle-class. Even in this leafy area, the teenagers can't stop talking about gangs. I somehow doubt it's The Bloods vs The Crips, but it's depressing all the same.