Seriously I left Devon to be here? We decided to move as my husband’s family are from the area. However, my initial impressions of this place being a tranquil, unspoilt gem of the Peak District, is a but like implying that it’s ok to **** on someone’s door – which probably goes on here.
Firstly, the place is over run with geriatrics who shuffle along at a snails pace, moaning about the yooof in a language that belongs to the neolithic era. If that was not so bad, then the influx of tourists all through the year is a menace to anyone who has real business to do, however good luck with that if you can actually find a normal shop, aside from the 20+ fish and chip shops crammed into this cesspit. These tourist also have the habit of thinking they own the place and will initiate abuse on command. Given, that most have been shipped in from the likes of Manchester, Sheffield and Nottingham, then it is probably best to give a miss.
Ah the locals. Well, they all go to the local school and when of age, are initiated into working at the only half normal place in town – the Co-op. Here you can expect a real fun time. I happened to have a friend who was younger than me and shopped there. She was also not from Bakewell. What joys were to behold her. From her recollections, she was [allegedly] sexually harassed by some little ****** no older that 16 [customer] who happened to be there every time she went in. As with anyone walking the streets of Bakewell on a Friday night, every pub has a congregation of [allegedly] underage kids inside and spilling outside. I was fortunate enough one night, after collecting my take-away to witness a young **** punching himself and who then threw beer over himself. The punch line was that he was arrested for fighting. Oh Hilarious you say.
Further down the road, at the park is where the real underage **** behaviour is going on. It would not be unusual to be called a **** by a bunch of ten year olds who have emerged from the only “estate” up the road. This is a haven for those who want to better themselves in life….usually moving from Matlock to a bigger council house for their off-spring paid for by the state and Mummy/daddy’s sorry excuse for a job, which is obligatory to consist of 20 hours of less, so that the tax payer can pick up the tab.
There’s more……if you want a real adventure- head to Youlgreave, or Stanton-in Peak (yes there should be an ‘the’ in Stanton in the Peak, but these lot barely have a handle on language acquisition). Here are isolated communities of real freaks and life’s misfits. At least they keep their ***** within the boundaries of the village. If you should visit, you may hear such things like, ‘I’m off t town, yer n’head.’ ‘she was a rate goer t last night.’ The glottal stop is alive and kicking here. Be warned!
