The dumb dumb local council apparatchiks of our stinking corner of London have become all-powerful and omnipresent. I guess at heart, all politicians and their lackeys have -- to a greater or lesser extent -- God complexes. It's a heady power trip, baby.
But this unbearable.
Hackney (sodding) Council has now officially assumed Complete Control over every aspect of my life.
I'm woken each morning by its clumsy street cleaners, who while noisy, fail to actually remove any litter.
My street and all those around it are constantly filthy because recycling and refuse collection isn't properly coordinated. Pick-up on our road is Thursday, immediately south and to the right, on Mondays, opposite us on Wednesdays and to the North, on Fridays. Ipso facto, the whole neighbourhood is in a perpetual state of accumulative rubbish. Indeed, many of the flat dwellers simply don't have room for all the recycling paraphernalia, so their stuff constantly lives on the pavement. And what of my neighbour's penchant for discarding TVs, computers, fridges, furniture, carpet and the like by just leaving it on the street..?
I'm penalised twice in the same week for parking my car outside my own home due to arbitrary parking suspensions, even when there is no evidence of planned or in-progress works -- or even a public notice to inform me of said suspension. And the ticketing is completely sneaky and cynical as it's done at 11pm at night when 1) everyone's in bed and 2) no work will be done anyway and therefore no obstruction.
I cannot properly walk the dog (or myself), even though there are numerous parks and green spaces, because everything's locked-up from 4pm to 9am. I know, I know -- it's for my own safety but then I do have a hefty MagLite (for the express purposes of illuminating the gloom, of course). But great working hours guys. Haringey's parks are open all year 'round -- well, Finsbury Park is -- why not ours?
We cannot extend our house as the council's spineless conservation geeks want to maintain the uniquely urban beauty of our streetscape -- comprised as it is of 1970s utilitarian social housing (directly opposite, a young offender's halfway house which for most, represents only a brief period of liberty between stretches in Pentonville and Brixton); long-closed burned-out shop fronts of graffitied corrugated iron facades; and a three-year-old hole in the ground (previously a dodgy pub of murder and then arson) slowly emerging as a six-storey modern cast iron development. We cannot build a mansard as our three lone Victorians are considered a full and 'unblemished' terrace and the council is -- without public notice -- re-drawing its previously published policy. Unblemished! It's the most godawful bollox of a streetscape. Cold War-era cities of the (nee)Eastern Block have more integrity and appeal.
I try to be a good boy (really I do) and I pay handsomely each month for this shite.
Resistance is futile.
I O-B-E-Y
"This is Joe Public speaking.
I'm controlled in the body, controlled in the mind.
Total c-o-n control -- that means you!"
No comments:
Post a Comment