No means yes.
And no, I am not referring to the warped mantra of a Yale fraternity.
As I came home from a reunion-type bar-b-que in Essex with a high school friend, I passed through Stratford. I had to walk through a shopping mall to reach the underground and get back to Central London.
It was the most rad shopping mall scene I had encountered in a while. In the stillness of the night, a group of about twenty young teenagers had connected their i-pods to speakers and transformed the centre of the mall into a dance floor. At first they played something that sounded like Afro-Cuban rhumba but they also played a host of other music from B.I.G to classical music. The entire situation oozed coolness – skating rink meets America’s Best Dance Crew. With their tracksuits and multi-coloured roller blades they brought a seventies fad back to raving life.
I motioned towards the underground and adjacent to the exit of the mall was a sign that read “No Skating.” Well for these teens, no meant yes. Not in the sadistic bro-bible sense, but in an artsy, fun and alternative way.
Whether they got caught or not, rollerblade bopping is now definitely on my list of things to do before I turn thirty.