Collapsing old buildings

The little print shop next to The Gunners pub has collapsed. For several days workmen* had been gutting the building and digging down into its foundations, presumably in a madcap attempt to burrow into the public bar of The Gunners and steal some valuable signed photos of ’71 double-winning skipper Frank McClintock. Blackstock Road was closed for a couple of days so the buses had to come down our road. On Monday morning, as I tried to confront the usual nappy shit, Weetabix globules and The Tweenies at full volume, some people looked down into our sitting room from the no. 19 bus and collectively let out a sigh of relief that they weren’t me.

* I use this term loosely – it was actually just a few blokes with digging equipment which they were obviously using for the first time.

The pipes of poo?

The big ploughed trackways are still there in the park, makeshift wooden fencing on each side. It appears they are connecting two major poo pipelines in the N16 area. This morning two blokes had a suction tube down a large manhole, presumably sucking up liquid shit then transporting to a part of the country that’s suffering from a runny faeces deficit.

Is this Spring?

Yesterday – 7th January – I saw the first ladybird of Spring. It landed on the screen of my Imac while I was checking the latest Premiership table. Then the phone rang. It was a woman from the Alliance and Leicester asking if I’d like a loan. They’re pissed off with me because I recently paid off the balance on my credit card and are trying strong-arm tactics to get me back on the high interest bandwagon. After I’d told her to get lost I went back to play with my new insect friend. But the ladybird had gone.

It rained all day today. Various little streams have appeared in the roads, all pouring down the Hackney Brook valley at different points. The two biggest run down Green Lanes and diagonally North-East through Clissold Park towards Grazebrook Road. I was splashing about in one of them when a car horn hooted and a woman leaned out of the window, fag in mouth, looking at me. I walked over to the car.
– Are you lost?
– What?
– What?
Then she stared past me, up at the block of flats accross the road, and blew smoke on my waterproof.