I fell in love with Wey-mouth and Portland in the 1970s when I came to live here after visiting it every year since 1960.

I have done a lot of voluntary work here to try to help save the outstanding heritage of this wonderful part of Dorset.

When, at the end of April, I came back home after a short break in Ireland, I felt like crying to find how the area round Weymouth railway station had changed from what it was in the past.

It was raining hard, everything was in near pitch darkness.

The reception area was locked and there was nowhere to shelter for a second.

I had to walk round the building in the dark and rain. I could vaguely see rubbish but not see the puddles and got soaked.

The only lights were ghastly traffic lights on-and-off jumping out at me – none of the familiar flower beds to give a sign of friendly life.

There were commercial or builder’s vans round every corner and dark figures silently lurking.

Somewhere I could here somebody urinating.

There were no taxis at the usual taxi waiting place and I had to struggle with my wheelie case in the rain across the road to the small light of a taxi office.

It was like a scenario out of a dark, murderous novel.

I was near to tears but that would have made my clothes only wetter.

Is this our heritage for the future? Is this our so-called legacy from the Olympics which will greet future visitors?

This, and the mushrooms on stilts? Towers on which to have your guts twisted upwards in an effort to see the beauty of the coast and see and enjoy the green grass?

Seas of confusing traffic lights that leave you stranded in the middle of a large stretch of concrete or tarmac?

When is the lunacy going to stop?

Susann Palmer Portland