2 February 2010

I had to email the council again today about the vomit.

At least, that’s what I think must be dried on to the window of the vacant showroom by the pub. The crowds that use my road as a shortcut between the high-volume vodka bars in the side-streets and the grungy indie dives around the hospital probably aren’t going around with bowls of oatmeal.

This is the same unit, maybe even the window, where we had the problem with the swastika. It appeared in black marker pen one weekend morning, coinciding (or so I hope) with the weekend the Austrian neo-Nazi leader died. The managing agents didn’t want to know, and it took the council weeks to send a cleaning crew. In the meantime it was spending thousands on an artificial ice rink for the town hall, complete with sound-and-light show.

These hundred-odd square feet around the showroom seem to attract disorder. A day or two before the snow, I found a Christmas fir rammed cartoonishly into an abandoned manhole just in front. A flat mat of pine needles outside one of the new-build maisonettes ended up sealed over by the freezing rain and ground into the tarmac by the time it thawed.

I don’t know what they used to show off in the showroom. Last summer, the managing agents put up a sign announcing it was going to become a language school. (So they do go round to that building, when they can be bothered.) The language school is on the high street, and the showroom is still empty, subjected to at least two dimensions of offensiveness so far.


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