Waste

This week is Architecture Week in the UK, and I booked us into a free debate that pondered the (deliberately?) vague question, "Is London full?"

I found the debate disappointingly simplistic and embarrassingly full of narrow perspectives/ rationale and wanted to leave after the third speaker, but Bob enjoyed the ridiculousness of the antics and was even prepared to contribute to the fray. By the time he thrust his hand into the air, only two more questions were taken and so he never got to challenge the conservative lot. We left a bit annoyed, but I suppose it was still interesting to see how people interpreted the question, and at least it was a low-key evening of listening to opinions and enjoying our free drinks and incredibly tasty olives just south of Angel tube. We decided to walk part of the way home in the cool evening, and came across this action figure, very oddly placed on a railing outside a street-level townhouse,
as well as this incredible, space-age playground:
I've complained before about the appearance of dog poo anywhere and everywhere across London, but this scene, very near the playground, sums up the absurdity of this phenomenon:
Yup, that's dog poo right smack in the middle of the path, but the best/ worst part about this sight is the insulting proximity of the dog-waste bin, complete with bags to help owners who may not have left home with such equipment. Astonishing. A less grotesque, but in a way more painful, sidewalk sight greeted us a bit closer to home--when I noticed all of these squished things on the ground, I wondered what was going on
and then I realised a fig tree had dropped all this luscious fruit on the ground.
The tree was on church grounds, and it appeared that a gardener had swept up all the useless fallen fruit:
As a fig-lover, it was a painful sight--all that delicious potential relegated to compost . . .