There's a subtle sort of urban warfare being played out at the front of our building. There's a bus shelter there, and a big billboard. Pictures to have graced this billboard include that stupid Are U Ready Girls? thing and, memorably, the X2 poster. But what's up there at the moment is an ad for lingerie, featuring the usual lounging model in lace. I've been speculatively eyeing off her French Knickers, actually.

But I digress. A few days ago, I came home to find that someone had plastered A4 sheets of paper with writing on over her. Not all over, just here and there. "Why do men's fantasties always wear cheap sweatshop lace?" they asked.

Well, I don't know.

The following day, all of them had been cleaned off. Not to be deterred, the party curious regarding the correlation of third-world labour and masculine sexuality reapplied them all by the time I came home.

And so it continues. What really amuses me is that the paper is really haphazardly applied, but there's always one right over the poor girl's face. So there she is, lounging in her lace, but with her individuality entirely removed by a piece of paper screaming: "Is the whole world a whorehouse?"

It's a tough life, being a lingerie model.