This is a photo special, for the benefit of regular readers who might like to see one or two of the things I've moaned about recently. Today's real post will follow shortly:-

First, a sign of the times. On the plot near me where expensive 'toilet-style' houses have been a work in process for three years now, the breeze-block garden wall is now being faced with cheap brick that would surely provoke suicide for whoever it is who passes for the architect of these monstrosities. It cannot possibly be what he/she had in mind before cost-cutting became the order of the day.


And talking of eye-sores, here's the carcass behind my house, where very little has happened for weeks now. I did plan to drink a few bottles of cava with Biopolitical when the first house was occupied but this could be a decade away at this rate.


And, finally, here's the offending Stop sign. As there's little to give you a real sense of perspective, I should add that the bottom of the roundel is at the level of my chest. And the top corresponds with my forehead. As I now know only too well.