Tristan Hazell lives and works in the shadow of the Westway on Portobello Road. What follows is a collection of observations, reviews, social comment, fiction, poetry, art criticism and more. Much of it is fiction and some of it will offend someone somewhere, I hope.

Friday, August 8, 2014

Shakespeares carparks. Much ado about nothing and the fucking up of Stratford upon Avon.

I was born in stratford upon Avon. Until 1972 I lived not too far away. I haven't been back since then…. Until today.

Stratford has been turned into one giant car park fed by a one way system. They have demolished the interesting architecture to make way for the car parks, they have eradicated the little old market town to make way for the car parks so that bus loads and car loads of tourists can be shipped in to look around the towns various car parks… There is Anne Hathaway's car park which is a quaint half timbered affair and the Royal Shakespeare Theatre car park which can be quite dramatic on occasions.

The town is now full of signage for car parks wherever you look, the roads are full of tourists reading the signs. There is nothing to see in Stratford upon Avon but car parks and people trying to park.

Everything that can be done wrong with tourism can be summed up in that , once lovely, little town.

That shithole I'm ashamed to call my birthplace.

It occurs to me that if Shakespeare could see the town now he would immediately set about re-writing 'Much ado about nothing'.

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