A ghost most certainly in the machine they rave against. I was driving, out towards Bethnal Green with Larry (thick set, London Irish), when we passed a foreman, marked by a kinky fluorescent tabbard. One arm held a phone tight to his ear, the other was raised behind his head. He looked bewildered, and I assume he was attempting to convey this bewilderment to someone, back at his office. And indeed he had good reason to…
For at dawn that morning, he and three other workmen had set to, re-laying some broken paving stones on Jubilee Street and re-pointing the cement which lines the centuries-old walkway. As with such work, attempted by public or private means, they left a job of crude and unpleasant quality.
Then, after the men had gone, an unnamed figure moved onto their handiwork, and attempted to improve upon what these workmens’ poor training and base aesthetic had left. The still-damp cement was scraped at and hacked away. Sand cut into fingernails. Shards of stone left bloody traces in soft hands which are still visible. And, when the job was done properly and the pavement was covered with muck and the leftover compound, these were cleanly swept away to leave a more beautiful and considered streetscene.
The passer-by, witnessing the foreman’s disbelief, could logically assume that his confusion arose from the speed and the tidiness of the cultural vandal… It is fair to conclude that he lives outside this area and doesn’t understand the Whitechapel Ghost Style.