As you say, Townie, cities change, not always for the better. Those of us who moved away a good while ago have the memories of Brum of yesteryear. Saturday evenings in the old Bull Ring, fire eaters, the escapologist entangled in his chains, Martineau Street, long gone, where I used to miss the last bus home by spending too much time with my fiancee, then walking four miles home around midnight without being molested. We perhaps now think of Brum with the rose-tinted spectacles of the mind.