Maida Vale stinks. Literally.

For several weeks there's been a deeply unpleasant smell lurking around the middle of the road outside our flat, and by its nature, there can be very few doubts about the origin. As the summer heat has baked the streets, the inadequacies of the capital's Victorian sanitation system have become apparent. London's sewers have a lot to answer for. Well, it's either them or a local serial killer. Whatever the reason, the unmistakable odour of decay has steadily gained more ground.

Underground Zero seems to be about two doors down, but despite its presence, no one in the eight houses most affected by the stench appears to have done anything about it. Admittedly I'm as guilty as anyone in this collective lethargy, but now the stench has made it personal: it's coming in through the sitting room window. You might not think that too remarkable given how long it's been hanging around, but we live on the second floor for goodness sake (and for those of you reading in American, that's the one three storeys up). That's some stink.

I'm deeply unhappy with this ongoing assault on my senses. As if the lifetime sentenced to poor eyesight wasn't bad enough, the recently recurring deafness and tinnitus are more than any man should have to put up with. So you'll understand why I resent my neighbours' shit getting up my nose.

Enough of this apathy. The gloves are off. Westminster Council, I'm coming to get ya...