They are tearing down a dilapidated shopping complex to make room for a giant hardware centre. In the process they have shifted and demolished three Victorian era cottages which not long ago had endured lavish paintwork and renovations.
Hard work. Sweat dripping to the new polished parquetry, all in hope to raise the value on an already expensive market. Only to be ripped apart to make room for a checkout and a spillage in Aisle 6.
All the roses, geraniums and irises, all who thrived as generations passed, ripped up and destroyed. The decaying roots under a Holden parked on the asphalt. A crying shame. On the bright side (whistles "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life" - Monty Python), the purchases from the store will be used to renovate and construct more homes and gardens. An irony isn't it? The cycle repeats. Values increase. Destruction. Construction. Destroy. Create. Birth. Death.
It is one thing I hate to see, homes destroyed. In particular homes that have been built in an age gone by. I've always had a keen eye for architecture and design. Practical Art. When I first visited Glasgow I was literally in Heaven. I walked the same paths as my ancestors, appreciated the parks, statues and monuments my ancestors moved around. The Clyde! The views of my ancestors...
One wouldn't normally appreciate such things unless one was in my shoes. The lone Australian. Majority of my relatives strewn across the globe.
Will my children experience these same feelings?
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