Hey - let's play naked twister!
Smalltown England - what's that all about, eh? Apart from a New Model Army song, obviously.
I was in Uttoxeter the other day. Don't ask why - there were good reasons. Or, at least there were reasons, which might not amount to the same thing. Nonetheless, I was there. It was Bank Holiday Monday, and the town was closed. Or almost closed. Iceland was open (the shop, not the island - I suspect that may have been open, too, but was sadly nowhere near Uttoxeter). As was Kwik Save, and Woolworths. And a pub. Just the one. In a town square. It looked OK - we went in for a swift pint, and everyone turned and stared. It wasn't friendly. Weasel-faced men with pencil moustaches, fat women in shell suits and old women with small, yappy dogs. And an undercurrent of suppressed violence. We drank up quickly and left after the one. Not, I think, that anything would have happened - whilst keeping their eyes on us, many people were interested in the DIY programme on telly. Why, I don't know.
The problem is that whilst it's easy to take the piss out of these places - and Uttoxeter is one of the worst - a post-industrial wasteland with pretentions to quaintness, and an almost unbearable lack of class - one wonders where they arose. As ever, blame Thatcher. A cliche, but a true one. For destroying British industry and British society. And blame Blair for picking up her baton and running with it. Very, very depressing.
Also, never go to Alton Towers, as it's far too scary. Why anyone would want to plunge down 280 foot to their (almost) certain death at the bottom is not comprehensible to me.
I was in Uttoxeter the other day. Don't ask why - there were good reasons. Or, at least there were reasons, which might not amount to the same thing. Nonetheless, I was there. It was Bank Holiday Monday, and the town was closed. Or almost closed. Iceland was open (the shop, not the island - I suspect that may have been open, too, but was sadly nowhere near Uttoxeter). As was Kwik Save, and Woolworths. And a pub. Just the one. In a town square. It looked OK - we went in for a swift pint, and everyone turned and stared. It wasn't friendly. Weasel-faced men with pencil moustaches, fat women in shell suits and old women with small, yappy dogs. And an undercurrent of suppressed violence. We drank up quickly and left after the one. Not, I think, that anything would have happened - whilst keeping their eyes on us, many people were interested in the DIY programme on telly. Why, I don't know.
The problem is that whilst it's easy to take the piss out of these places - and Uttoxeter is one of the worst - a post-industrial wasteland with pretentions to quaintness, and an almost unbearable lack of class - one wonders where they arose. As ever, blame Thatcher. A cliche, but a true one. For destroying British industry and British society. And blame Blair for picking up her baton and running with it. Very, very depressing.
Also, never go to Alton Towers, as it's far too scary. Why anyone would want to plunge down 280 foot to their (almost) certain death at the bottom is not comprehensible to me.
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