Edna House | The Twilight Zone

3 08 2010

The Unwin Estate of Southwark, situated on Peckham Park and Bird and Bush road, had a refurbishment a while back.  Gawd knows how much it cost but I do know the Council had to pay out twice for scaffolding as some nark forgot to put the drain pipes on.

For those not privy to the layout of a Sarf London council estate (lucky bastards!), they are usually made up of large groupings of flats called ‘Something House’, serviced by lifts that smell of pish if your lucky, or if your unlucky, hallways that smell of pish.  Unlike our American cousins who seem to build in blocks, our Estates sprawl over into every nook, cranny and disused canal it can, usually surrounding a tiny rubberized playpen where you can sit and while away the day.

Alas, it isn’t the Southwark Shoddy Workmanship I wish to bemoan or an explanation of Southwark Wonders from the Victorian Age but what should be a local landmark for all to see.

After the scaffolding came down from Edna House, the second time, our Dear Council decided to place a score of photographic murals along her base.  Now a walk past the outdoor gallery is like looking at what was while smelling what is!  Very unsettling.

Photographs of beaming white children waiting on the train platform, lines of well-wishers for a local dignitary in a motorcar, a couple of kids playing by the canal, the wood yard beside the canal showing the waterways for what they were.  All with the soundtrack and aromas of our replacements.  Very twilight zone.

“Celebrate the diversity and get involved” the Righteous would say.  “Be proud of Britain and stay strong” my compatriots say.  I cannot do neither for I have already lost my home and am reminded of it every bleeding day.

No matter what we do, the Bastards who Be will win.  If  we revolt, we’d only end up buying our arms from the same people.  If we move our money away from them they’ll only print more devaluing it anyways.  They own everything.  No need to own the people when you own the tenancy.

Damn, what was meant to be a Peckham tourism promotion turned into a doom-ridden rant.  Blimey, and to think, I wasn’t feeling so beaten the other day.  Must be the umpteen paper cuts, dislodged vertebra and half a kilo of olde archiving dust in my airways since.  I’m too nihilistic when clogged up.




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