Cromer is a lovely place. Even on a grey and windy day, such as today, there is always a charming surprise just around the corner. Here is a rainbow out at sea, as spotted by Crox Minor on our morning constitutional.
Not that Cromer doesn’t have its orcs. Here is an efflorescence of new graffiti on the beach huts that’s sprouted up like an outbreak of new leprosy.
Now, you might be one of those people who think graffiti is art, an expression of the irrepressible spirit of those who have no other means of expression. You might think it’s cool, urban, hip and happening.
I beg to differ.
I think graffiti is the horrible, mean-spirited, evil, spiteful effluvium of those too tiny-minded and thick to be capable of anything more than the dull and troll-like, or even to be capable of stringing words together into the Great Questions of the Age such as ‘do you want fries with that?’
You might think that the perpretrators of such vandalism should be indulged, that we should make efforts to understand their perspective, if only to assuage any feelings we might have of middle-class, liberal guilt.
I beg to differ.
I think that they should have their hands cut off. I have a blunt and rusty machete in my shed…
