As a daily rail passenger to Doncaster, I am appalled at the acres of plastic bags and wrappers which litter the line. Along the banks of the DOn, beside the canal, and mainly on the approach to Conisbrough station are fields of plastic. It's depressing to think this material will outlive anyone alive today. What a signpost to the area - what a disgrace.

As I make my weekly Saturday trip down the street, I find the centre a bustling thriving place. This is the last day for newsagents Neil and Carol, who are moving on after 20 years in the town; I prefer their shop because it is welcoming, and also because they knock money of periodicals and amazingly undercut the two main supermarkets. It's been a pleasure shopping with the couple, and I wish them well.
The scaffolding has been up around the dismantling old building for so long, I wonder if they will need planning permission soon as a permanent structure. It can't do the town many favours, having it boarded off so long with dire danger signs on it. It was above that area that the scourge of my life, dentist Mr Girffith (whose wife Yvoone, I think, taught me RI at Swinton Comprehensive). I ran away from his gas and pliers one time too many, and my mam said she would never go with me again, and she didn't - I had to face my demons myself and go willingly, alone. As a child, a visit to Mr Griffith was always followed by a visit to the bouncy-floored Woolworths for a toy, my gums bleeding. If only you could tell a kid that too many midget gems will wreak havoc with their teeth, I would be a happier person now, and have more teeth probably...