It all started with a note.
Late last week, I was walking long the road I live on in Brixton, London, when I spotted a note affixed to a tree. “Please don’t pick my flowers. Thank you,” read the note, pinned just above a flowering lupin. Pretty innocuous, you might think.
The other residents on my street didn’t seem to think so.
By Saturday afternoon, the tree, once adorned by flowers, was now bedecked with handwritten notes, encased in plastic wallets.
The lupin was now nowhere to be seen and, in its place, appeared to be the paper equivalent of a blazing argument. Read more…