of free expression via daubings on the hoardings. Coded art for morning wanderers, collectors of biscuits, coffee bandits. There was religion in the markings but they’ve been wiped away by the orange-vested site porters, only the silver streak remains. It speaks more to me than the original marker scratchings. But this quadrant of the town is rich in godly souls, I see robes and staffs on my Banbury Road driftings, I saw a guy standing in a bus shelter earlier this week holding up a number-plate-size sign with JESUS printed across it in orange letters. I don’t think he was waiting for a bus. There are sanctums here, quiet lodges with 70s fittings and floral wallpaper where theology seeps from the bricks and shag carpets. Perhaps the site message was for these more-godly residents?
