You can tell that the economy of East Anglia is more flourishing than that of the West Midlands because the fine for drunken vomiting in the back of the taxis of Peterborough is £50, whereas it is only £40 for doing so in the back of the taxis of Wolverhampton.
The other difference between the taxis of the two cities (as I discovered on making the journey between them recently) is that the former are driven entirely by Muslims, the latter by Sikhs. How this arrangement came to pass — if, indeed, it is an arrangement — I do not know, but I am glad to report that both lots of drivers are extremely helpful and obliging, at least to their customers.
I never go to Peterborough except to examine criminals charged with serious offences such as murder in the prison there. It is a relatively new prison and is built in the style of one of those characterless hotels that have grown up everywhere beside ring-roads and motorway service stations, though of course with a few additional security features. It is a pleasure to be able to record in print, with gratitude, the helpfulness of the prison’s staff.
Having arrived in the city a couple of hours early, I had time to look around a little — as I have done before. Peterborough is essentially a sublime cathedral surrounded by a festival of British modernist architectural incompetence and brutalism, sponsored by a council planning committee that was both without taste and — let us at least hope, for it is the only charitable interpretation of what the committee has wrought — corrupt.
Civilisation having been thus destroyed, a small effort at resuscitation was taking place while I was there.
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