On ugliness

Yesterday I was visited by a moment of clarity. We had arrived slightly early at the South London school we were due to perform at. Our set was up, our costumes were on and we only awaited our tiny audience members to finish their lesson before filing into the hall. It being another miraculously lovely fresh Spring morning, I was sitting on the hall steps beneath a ticker tape shower of cherry blossom petals, and the thought struck me that beauty is one of the most vital things to my state of well-being. I wilt when I'm surrounded by ugliness. I will spend my last pound on a bunch of flowers. I don't think I am alone in this need, but too often it is sacrificed to commerce in modern life. And then we end up with cheap, uninspired buildings, like the 42 storey mall they are proposing to fasten onto Clapham Junction station. But, reason number 101 why I'm so glad to live in England: by joining the ranks of Those Who Complain, I am taking up a time-honoured national past time, and I have hope that my voice will be heard by my local council. Which is a treat for someone raised on the corrupt machinations of the apathetic South African bureaucrats.