THE nights are fair drawin’ in, as they say. The gales have arrived, knocking the withered leaves from the trees, only to be washed down a gully in the torrents of rain… promptly blocking the drain.  

It’s the annual reminder, should any be now necessary at all, that services aren’t what they used to be. The only broom to sweep a gutter these days will be found in your cupboard, not the back of a council wagon.

Somewhere in a far-off place, a resident will emerge from her home next week onto the most immaculate street in the land. Regularly swept for litter, listening devices and explosives, only journalists and the endless procession of new MPs posing for selfies on the steps of No 10 litter Downing Street.