The problem, dear humans, is that you seem to believe your buildings will magically clean themselves if you ignore them long enough. As The Very Angry Frog, I am here to inform you—loudly, furiously, and with maximum amphibian indignation—that this is not how reality works. Your houses, shops, cafés, sheds, garages, and assorted human rectangles are FILTHY. They are grimy. They are peeling. They are fading. They are embarrassing. And worst of all, they are completely fixable with the simplest tools known to humankind: a power jet hose and a lick of paint.
I hop past your properties every day, and what do I see? Walls coated in a decade’s worth of dirt, algae clinging on like it pays rent, and paint so faded it looks like it’s been personally insulted by the sun. Some of you have shop fronts that appear to be auditioning for a documentary titled “Britain’s Most Neglected Buildings.” And for what? Because you can’t be bothered to spend one afternoon blasting away the filth with a jet wash? Because the idea of opening a tin of paint fills you with existential dread?
Let me tell you something: I am a frog. I do not have hands. I do not have DIY skills. I cannot operate machinery. And yet even I understand that a quick wash and a fresh coat transforms a building from “abandoned crime scene” to “respectable establishment.” Meanwhile, you humans—with your opposable thumbs and your access to hardware shops—walk past your own properties like, “Yes, that mould patch is part of the charm.”
Charm? CHARM? The only thing charming about your neglected buildings is how confidently they repel customers. People don’t want to enter a shop that looks like it’s been cursed. They don’t want to sit in a café whose exterior suggests the coffee inside might also be dusty. They don’t want to visit a house that looks like it’s preparing to fall over.
A power jet hose costs less than the amount you waste on takeaway coffees. Paint is sold everywhere. The process is simple: spray the dirt off, slap some colour on, stop living in architectural shame. Your property could look fresh, bright, clean, and welcoming. Instead, it looks like it’s been through a storm, a fire, and a mild emotional breakdown.
I, The Very Angry Frog, am begging you—no, demanding you—restore your buildings. Wash them. Paint them. Respect them. Because if I have to hop past one more wall that looks like it’s dissolving, I will unleash an amphibian rant so powerful it will strip the paint off for you.
The Very Angry Frog 