NO STREET-DRINKING ZONES IN HACKNEY - PART 1

LAST CALL FOR THE RETCHING SLURRING BEATIFIC BODY. AN ELEGAIC LAST HURRAH FOR THE STUMBLING CARNIVAL; THE PAVEMENT TALKERS, BUS STOP PREACHERS AND THOSE WHO HOWL AT TRAFFIC.

MEAT WAGONS AT 8:00 AM NO SIRENS NO PACK DRILL JUST DULL THUD OF CARCASSES AND THE SLOW TRICKLE OF AUTHORISED POISONS RECENTLY UNAUTHORISED, POURED AWAY. PLEASE LEAVE THE AREA IN AN ORDERLY FASHION.

SLEEP EASY – YOUR INVESTMENTS ARE SAFE. NO RESIDENTS WILL BE HARMED BY THIS ACTION. IF YOU ARE HARMED, YOU ARE NO LONGER A RESIDENT.

DO NOT PANIC – THIS ORDER IS NOT FOR YOU


View CLASS CLEANSING DRINKING MAP in a larger map

BIG YELLOW

SPACE & LIGHT & ORDER

"Space and light and order. Those are the things that men need just as much as they need bread or a place to sleep." (le corbusier)

i'll settle on the sleeping bread, thanks. dysfunction autodidact. machine housing is gaunt edwardian, fat went to the town hall, beaux-arts; it's swelling cupola bulks over the belt of road. panacea to urban discharge, conjured by industry. institutional tiled staircase, reminder of the spike. however intended, three generations per unit.

air got cleaner, though canal remained a poisoned sump. Conduit for stormwater, sewage overspill. victorian romanesque arches dripped, soot blackened rivulets of corrosive rain. The viaduct was an aqueduct with rails. It strode across the poorest parts of town, between each brick footprint a small workshop. Light but dirty industry, cash transaction. Small empires rose and fell beneath the skeletal gasworks
Empire dwindled, and with it, decoration. The post war settlement yielded prefab units, to ward off revolution.

whilst boomtime bubble spec bred lamped fanlighted boxes, raw orderly cul-de-sacs, the entablatures of workshops were restored. Obsolescent meant “period”. wood floors, for those who could afford to heat. Warehouses of taste, sprung from the beige interior of sweden. No corners moulder, storage everywhere. The offer of a sleek mastery, at a reasonable price. To have money, now, meant to have nothing on display.

Frontiers rolled back. The west gestures, floats on a raft of laminate flooring. Waves it’s shirt at it’s own rescue ship (and finds itself the first to rescue). beech effect. No more to suffer the entrenched inefficiency of the public sector. Labyrinths of paper. A bright future, flatpacked.

TOSSERS WANT US TO CELEBRATE IT, SO LET´S

We heartily reccomend all readers apply for this - short notice, unfortunately. They want a "cultural" and "inclusive" (a multitdude of sins under that rubric) rubberstamp for their spectacle, it´s only fair that we should get to provide our suggestions. They might even accept some...(more fool them)...
They want cheerleaders, let´s give them a cheer.

Calling all Hackney WAB activists and supporters.

Hackney Council is tying to raise money by selling off its land from the borough’s council estates: they call this Estates Plus. Right now they have been trying to convince the residents of Frampton Park estate (just off Mare st) that the sale of five sites on the estate will lead to improvements and help with overcrowding. This includes green space, play areas and garages used by the residents. The land will be sold to housing associations, who will build and then sell and rent the flats they build.

Although there will be more low rent housing, which is much needed, it will be achieved by cramming more people into an overcrowded area.

Most of the residents don’t want the development; they don’t want to lose their green space and play grounds, when there aren’t enough places for kids to play already. One of the proposed buildings will be just yards from older peoples flats, on a piece of land kids use for football. The pensioners living in the flats would like to see a garden there, but instead they will have a multistory block towering over them.

Meanwhile across Hackney the council has sold off land that was and could be good alternative places for this social housing to be built. On Dalston Lane for instance, a row of Georgian houses with shop fronts were sold five years ago by the council to an off shore developer. They are protected and so could not be developed unless they were damaged and derelict. Since then the houses have been damaged by a series of fires, and some have been demolished. Those houses could be muti bedroom accommodation for Hackney’s overcrowded tenants and homeless families. Instead Hackney will let those buildings rot till they are developed into yuppie flats, while off the main streets the council estates are over developed.

This is making working class people bear the brunt of the housing crisis, and taking facilities away from those who need it most.

DEMONSTRATE at Hackney Town Hall! Say NO to selling off our land!

6-7pm Wednesday 23 July 2008

NEGATIVE EQUITY

Sean gets off with a screw, it aint funny.

Pretty bad aint it when you get driven out yer own gaff, yeah well that's what happened to me. Well Sean's one thing,I mean i invited him round, he's a mate inne so it don't feel like so much of an imposition; you can still eat pot noodles, belch and scratch in yer underpants when yer mates round but when ther's a bleedin bird there, well, it aint the same is it?
Right so Sean arranges to see this grotesque megaton security guard, this one that was groping him in a group4 van a few years back, one he never forgot..right, yeah yeah, i'll get on with it.
So he arranges to see her in the Dolphin, now i thought it was just me an him goin down there for old times sake, to talk about the old days and see if lovely Brenda the barmaid was still there, i didn't really think it'd be me, Sean and some horrible screw called Gaynor. So we gets there and its earlyish and there;s a few scruffy student types and a few of these ponces who think they're Russell Brand wearing pipecleaner jeans or whatever they're called and they're hair all up and backcombed like a 60's tart. its a fuckin disgrace Sean says ruefully as we settle with our pissy pints of stella, this place used to be a proper boozer.And i mean in a lot of ways it still is, if you look at the decor and the daft hours it keeps an all that, its just that the geezers and the vietnamese and the moody paddys playin pool and all them punk lot seem to have been driven out by these little ponces who reckon to be artists or some such shit. What these birds fall for nowadays is beyond me.
So we sits down at a little table by the window and Sean starts saying this stuff to one of these little wankers about how he;s elbowed his way onto our table and then , instead of backind down and giving Sean some respect he starts arguing the toss in this orrible nasal whining little voice, well i aint jokin i sees Seans face going through that weird trnasformation from pink to red to bright purple, his eyes have narrowed into thin slits and his skins gone all waxy. i'm thinking, o my god, any minute now an that cunt is goona have that stupid sneering face smashed across the bar and daubed ACROSS THE CEILING!!!!!!!!!!!And just as Sean's about to snap in walks Gaynor, all 6 foor one inches of her decked head to toe in sequins and glittery eyeshadow like shes been at some christmas office party circa 1986, i aint jokin, she's a disgusting mess, you know like when some kid nicks its mums make up and smears it all over its face, that was what gaynor looked like, she;d made a real special effort for Sean.So Sean gets to his feet, pushes the posh cunt out of the way and jumps to the bar offering to buy her a drink, but then i notice something really orrible, she aint alone, she's with this stringy blonde bird called Angie, oh no i think, i'm bein lined up with soem weirdo smackhead whose eyes won't focus, or worse still, another screw! But then in a flash i think about it, and yeah a jumps a jump, or should i say a screws a screw!!HA HA HA HA HA HA HA AH AHHHHHHHHAAAAHHHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!! Anyway i think, could be worse you know, better sink a few more pints......... oh god, me stomachs playin up, eugghchha, sorry, eughd, urgh god, its me ulcer, sorry, right more later when i've been to the bog.......

MESSAGE FROM BELMARSH BY MY MATE SEAN.
Sean has been writing and I’m putting it up here in case some yuppie wankers are reading then they’ll know what’s fucking coming….ha ha ha, love Baz.

Alright Barry my old son, how;s it goin?
Well, looks like I’m comin out Friday.
Thank you for letting me know whats been happening, I aint happy I’ll tell you that, it aint on.
Anyway when I saw all the smoke the other week making the sky all black it gladdened my heart Barry I’m telling you cos I thought yeah, some fuckers doin something, some fuckers AINT TAKIN THIS LYING DOWN!! And I thought, well done Baz cos I was sure it must have someming to do with you, but then it turned out to be some empty factory on fire and not them bloody yuppie flats at all so what I’m saying to you Baz is lets get it sorted, lets meet and have a walk round when I get back AND SEE WHAT IS TO BE DONE.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!