Amidst all the uproar about potholes in the roads of York, I am reminded of a mysterious figure in New York called the pothole bandit.
Some years ago my father-in-law was driving me through downtown Manhattan. I had expected that the roads to be in good shape, but instead they were badly potholed.
When I remarked on this my father in law told me about the pothole bandit.
This mysterious figure operated in the dead of night. He brought with him earth and tree saplings, and planted these in the worst potholes. In the morning the rush hour traffic had to doge the trees.
Shamed into action, the city fathers repaired the offending potholes.
Perhaps York needs a pothole bandit.
David Martin, Rosedale Avenue, Acomb
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