Nicholas Boys Smith considers why street scars can spoil our streets and how we can fix it.
We’ve all seen this: the freshly laid paving or granite setts, the Yorkstones lovingly laid on a slow street, or in front of a newly repaired parade of Victorian shops. Within months, weeks or, sometimes days, a slice or a square of them are pulled up thoughtlessly, cracked, smashed or, worse, thrown needlessly away and replaced by a scar of tarmac which lingers for months or years or forever and which seems to laugh at any local or neighbourhood desire to live in a place with self-worth.
“I am authority,”, it seems to say. “I am from nowhere. I serve the needs of a nameless, placeless corporation. I don’t care about you, or your neighbourhood or your friends. You don’t matter. Your local aspirations are pointless and petty. Get lost. I don’t care.”
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