Don't count on your council...

Graffiti these days seems to consist solely of 'tagging', those irritating and pathetic attempts to put a mark on something. In the olden days, graffiti said something, but now it's rare to find something thought provoking or controversial. My own favourite of the last few months, written in neat capitals in a Salford underpass, was: 'Bethany Atherley stinks of fish!'

So it was with pleasure that I noticed this message to the council:

Not that they'll take any notice. A couple of weeks ago our soak away drain was tarmaced over. This has been useful over the last five years, taking water from the downspout and soaking it away so it doesn't wash across the footpath. Now it does, because the council have blocked up the soak. They told me it wasn't a soak, it was caused by 'erosion' because there was no foot on the downspout. It reminded me of Father Ted, querying why Dougal hadn't taken Father Jack for his walk to the cliffs. 'They were gone' says Dougal. 'Gone?' says Ted incredulously, 'How could they be gone?' 'Er... erosion.'

Needless to say, I got no joy from the council. They have blocked up a perfectly useable drain, and now water floods across the footpath. The road is pitted and rutted, potholed and cratered. The footpath on Market Street has almost no flag that doesn't wobble. They've approved another £18million in cuts, to add to the ever-increasing amount they say they have to save, but have miraculously found £4.5million to improve the main market. They continue to pursue a ridiculous bid to gain city status when the town itself has the mentality of a small village...

*Gets off soapbox...*

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (part two)...

On Monday of this week it started to snow. There had been a dusting earlier, just before New Year, but Monday night's fall was prolonged and heavy. We were woken around 6.30 by the sound of spade scraping on tarmac and a quick look out the window showed a taxi driver stuck outside the house. He was gamely attacking the six or seven inches of snow that had fallen but, as Agnieszka pointed out, he should have been clearing the snow, not trying to remove the road surface. Every so often he would get back in his car, rev a little, skid a bit, then get out and start further pointless digging. Anyone other than a taxi driver and I may have gone out, but as they know all there is to know about driving, I left him to it.

As everyone knows, more than a third of an inch of snow = day off. I had rung in by 8am and then wandered out with Agnieszka as she went to get a bus. First, putting their customers first as usual, had suspended all services. Later in the day, when they resumed, they weren't using Bolton bus station as it was snowbound. I know this is an outrageous thing to say but, why weren't the drivers clearing it in the morning? I mean, they couldn't go anywhere could they?

So with both of us off we had a mid-week fried breakfast and then trundled off into the park for a walk. I love the silence of the snow, everything seems to still, peaceful and untouched. That is, until we reached Moses Gate ponds where a selection of Farnworth's (and probably Bolton's) finest had removed some large road signs, bent one edge and were using them as sledges. Some had even gone to the trouble of punching holes and fitting ropes to make them look more streamlined.

We walked back along the main road. No plough had been down here. In fact, there were no signs of any activity on the part of Bolton Council to clear anything. We saw no gritter, no council staff, nothing. It is as if our ability to deal with a problem suddenly evaporates when the snow arrives. Everyone is helpless and, it has to be said, giddy. I think it was summed up by a comment on an idiot board, sorry, online forum. It said, roughly, 'why can't we cope when countries that have snow regularly can?' As far as I can see, the answer to that is in the question: other countries cope because they get this kind of weather every year. We don't. The last time it snowed like this was, according to the Guardian, 1982. So it is no wonder we don't invest in snowploughs and blowers, shovels and grit. If everyone did a little, then all would be well, but I noticed on our street, I am the only one to clear the front of the house.

Anyway, enough moaning. Here are some photos.

The back yard, with the covered chicken run and hut on the left-hand side.

Me, sure I'd left the car outside the house.

Oh, there it is.

Market Street, Farnworth at 9am on Tuesday. It would still be like this at 5pm.

Hungry swans on the pond at Moses Gate park. Other photos in this post were also taken in the park, thanks to Agnieszka for being patient and taking them while I ran around like a loon.