LAST Thursday my wife and I had our Covid jabs. Previously I have had no reaction. This time I have.

I mope around the place with acute glooms. Last night, though my coughing had eased, I could not get to sleep for reflecting on the present shambolic state of our poor old city.

The horrible state of the underpass at the end of my road, the great swathe of organised (?) mess along the Avon from Sainsbury’s to the Leisure Centre and then the log jam in Fisherton Street.

Nothing much seems to be done about any of it. If decrepit, diedin-the-wool residents like me shrink from entering the mucky place what must the visitors, shoppers, strangers, foreigners think about coming in?

Not much, I guess. I suppose the worst of it is the Avon Mess, for the mysterious empty creeping paralysis imposed on Fisherton Street is just that – mysterious, and the graffiti in the underpasses is apparently way beyond human solution.

However, global warming will probably have carried off the Avon Mess before the contractors even notice it’s gone.

Another Noah’s flood! Imagine all those temporary mess rooms, restrooms, drawing offices, planning offices, whatevers, swirling away down the now mighty Avon en route to Downton and those sluggish diggers, cranes, and trucks tumbled under tons of water into the vast graves they have dug for themselves.

Sorry, NHS but I am not having any more of your Covid jabs.

Tom Ridout

Victoria Road, Salisbury