Not a pretty site

I drive around this urban blight remembering we are all accidents of birth.  Every drab and crumbling home in each depressing council estate placed there to house the families that came to man the mills and factories, the foundries and the mines.  Communities brought into being by hardship and misery, drawn by hunger from their ancestral lands.  Upon these folk were great cities built.  Ideas and credit didn’t produce a ton of coal or steel or keep assembly lines in motion.  Those things took effort.  Hard work.  That’s what built the cities.  The blood and sweat of these estates produced the millions spent on finery and civic status.  It produced the dynasties whose educated sons and daughters sent the work to Poland and to China, leaving streets like these to crumble into hell.  Industrialisation – post-industrialisation.  Misery – progress – misery.  Don’t be too surprised if it’s not a pretty site.