I’m back from my holiday in Mega City One. Many thanks to Mumu for holding the fort in my absence and thanks, as ever, to everyone who reads and everyone who comments.
Back to find that little has changed, then. As my taxi swept down the New Road I noticed the banners hung outside the now‐defunct Old Dispensary; once a vibrant, regal purple with gold detail, they are now weather‐beaten and dull, almost‐brown and raggedly fluttering.
Next came the building which stands at the very epicentre of our area, at the junction of the four principal roads and at the corner of the Green for which we are most known: the public toilet. Shit‐smeared and derelict, it no longer works even for its secondary purpose, a shooting gallery for heroin. So disgusting that even the addicts don’t want it.
Further along to the Church Street Hotel, for which many hold high hopes; still not open, three months past target. One small spark of hope still exists to be kindled, however, as there was a man there painting the front door.
Further still and across the road, the repainted Cube, changed from its original burnt ember to a kind of septic green, with bruise‐green detail and door and window frames still in burnt ember. Is that finished? One would hope not, yet certainty eludes us.
Everywhere we look are visual metaphors.