I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vale and hills.

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host of golden ... no no it's litter --

Beside the shops, beneath the trees

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on St Peter's Way,

Litter stretches in never-ending line

Along the margins of a sunny Bolton day.

For orf when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

Litter flashes on the inward eye

And I think ... WHAT A MESS.

A reader asked last week ''where have all the litter sweepers gone?'' Well, if he read the Bolton Evening News carefully, he would know that his council swept them away as a cost-cutting exercise to keep the council tax down. (I know some street sweepers, they're the salt of the earth, and out of work). Yet, somehow, the council still manages to manufacture some nonsense jobs at £25/30,000 per year.

Not many good things come out of the USA, but here is one muted all over the media five years ago called The Broken Window Syndrome. Briefly, it meant, if a window was broken in a district, it was repaired immediately because, if it was not repaired, another would be broken and the area would soon be run-down and the residents would begin not to care.

The window could be damaged structures or even litter. Bolton Council have obviously not cottoned on to this, and the way I feel about my town right now is, why should I care any more?

George Whitlow

Solent Drive

Bolton