There are so many. A lot of it is down to taste, hence little to no accounting. But for me I feel the woefully shortsighted and brutal architecture of joy-sucking concrete tower blocks and multi-story car parks all over the country would be best reduced by explosives. Even a good, firm, merciful push might be all it would take to transform their moribund mass into ready-soaked piss-stinking rubble. Whilst studying at college I once lived in the Chapel Street Estate, nr Dudley. Admittedly it was by far not the worst (and I could see as far as Wales from the oh-so-tempting balcony, but it was nowhere to live, simply a cynical existence that fomented nightly dreams of escape and a daily drudge of avoiding the similarly crushed souls that coughed and hacked their way up 20 flights of echoing stairs (the lifts being normally the domain of dogs, micturation and drug-taking)
I had friends who lived in the long-since demolished Tanhouse tower blocks, and they took some grim pleasure recounting tales of falling televisions and human bodies that passed their 12th floor window over the years. Designed for unemployed people or those on low wages, they also housed troubled and violent families, criminals, pensioners and young homeseekers. Even if you were an optimistic tenant to begin with then the Block would soon put pay to that.
A building can change the way we live, and by small or large degree change who we are. I know what the high-minded architects and planners were thinking but they were wrong.