AFTER what has seemed like 30 years, the scaffolding and boarding at the top of George Street has come down, and it was well worth the wait.

The new, improved facade looks jaw-dropping so I can’t help but hope its architects have equally designed a brilliant deterrent for anyone with a can of spray paint and an intellect well short of a Neanderthal, because in recent months, George Street’s buildings have obviously been releasing a pheromone that is proving irresistible to those freak creatures of the night who can’t even write their own names, let alone spell ‘graffiti’.

Seriously, take a long leisurely walk, with your head snapped back so you’re eyeball to eyeball with its roofs, starting at Debenhams and finishing at Nando’s.

It’s quite a sight.

Almost every building has been ‘signatured’ with spray paint and clearly the culprit derives some kind of embarrassing sexual satisfaction from his or her ability to write a four letter word that means absolutely nothing to anyone who has the cognisance to use a fork or operate a door handle.

When one recalls just how rough George Street used to be, its renaissance over the last six years has been nothing short of miraculous.

Which is why of course it would irritate those who couldn’t possibly ever contribute so much as a spat out piece of gum to our community.

And truth be told, it wouldn’t be so bad if these morons with egos the size of China at least made a stab at trying to spray ‘paint’.

You know, an urban Mona Lisa perhaps or a Sistine Chapel complete with bling. But instead, in George Street, it’s all about the glorification of one frustrated wannabe who can’t stretch themselves beyond the use of just four of the alphabet’s 26 letters.

Call me old fashioned, but let’s face it it’s not really something you’d want to boast about is it? Living a whole life within the bubble of four characters?

However, I could just be short-sighted – after all, it must take a lot of initiative and a great head for heights to achieve this level of inaneness.

Graffiti of course is a fact of life; a strange fact, yes, like the chihuahua or poodle but a feature of our everyday lives nonetheless.

It’s just a shame that so many who embrace its apparent communication of frustrated yoof and forgotten society can’t stretch themselves to create something that instead of being all about them – and make no mistake, the graffiti on George Street is nothing but an embarrassingly limp ‘selfie’ – actually attempts to confront and highlight a genuine social issue.