Yesterday I found myself with an afternoon to spare. The good weather was literally too good to ignore, so I wandered into the depths of Croft Wood to find a tanquil spot and enjoy the sunshine. Even with cool temperatures and a light breeze, the day was warm. I know this all sounds a bit naff, but I do find it relaxing to sit listening to wind in the trees, birdsong, and the exasperated orders of dog owners.

On the way there I strolled through the park. It was the usual scene, a handful of idle unemployed getting drunk and teaching each other how to avoid drug busts, single mothers and their infants curious about what these strange fleshy limbs are good for, and the varied collection of avian scroungers on the lake, waiting to bounce on anyone wishing to be generous with breadcrumbs.

One sharp witted seabird spotted an opportunity. It swung in low and stole the lump of bread almost out of the mouth of the hapless duck. No doubt pleased with itself, it began to make a serene escape across the lake. Not to be outdone, his rivals decided to steal the bread from him. A race erupted as three seabirds chased the thief here and there in daredevil aerobatics at low altitude. All very dramatic.

All Very Ugly

What is it with Swindon? Ever since the Second World War Swindon has tried to persuade the outside world that it too can be a city if you squint and look askance at its hodgepodge of victorian pidgeon nests, concrete carbuncles, and modern flat pack apartments. Why can't Swindon simply accept that it was, is, and always will be a small market town that got lucky in the days of emerging railways?

Near Croft Wood is a new housing development. Like most architecture of that sort, it tries to be visually striking, to impress the observer with unusual angles and dramatic flair. What it actually looks like is a multi-storey barrack block with a silly roof. There's something stark and unappealing about modern architecture. The search for simple and elegant appearance usually results in a whitewashed render or orange brick slab, punctured by plain windows with no visual merit whatsoever. Swindon likes this sort of thing. It positively encourages such blasphemies, anything to remove the old world of the Victorian steam engine. You now what? I think that's a huge mistake.

All Very Coppiced

This isn't the first time I've moaned about the way green spaces in Swindon are managed. They're all being coppiced now, so that the unspoilt and natural patina of woodland is replaced by something that looks unfinished, unnatural, and fails to hide the ugly architecture that surrounds it. Bright sunlit groves? Awful. Simply awful. Okay, I know woodland can get overgrown but sometimes it's a good thing. There's a seclusion and comfort about untended woodland that even the best gardners can't emulate.

It was a nice day. A shame then the places to enjoy it are being commercialised and made politically correct.

All Very Botched

A while ago my street was closed to trafic while contractors ripped up the tarmac trying to fix water leaks and so forth. yesterday they were back to do it again. I overheard one workman telling another that the manhole was in the wrong place.

Once again frustrated motorists are staring confused at the barriers across the road, trying to figure out a new route in their heads. With everyone using GPS no-one can plot a course of their own it seems. A huge articulated truck squealed to a halt by the barricade, the two man crew urgently debating how to extricate themselves from this disaster of logistics. Turning into a side street wasn't going to be easy with tightly parked cars everywhere, and the alternative was a long reverse uphill around an 'S' bend.

This morning a great pile of ashpalt road pieces lay heaped behind the wire fencing. Like a sort of abandoned jigsaw. You know, that kind of makes me think of what Swindon is. An unfinished jigsaw that planners get bored with.