I am, it would seem, fated to live wherever the ***** congregate. Though judging by this site, that’s most of the world. I wonder when the first space-**** will be reported? In any case, my sorry tale began in Sidcup (it wasn’t half as bad when I lived there) then there was Canterbury, and I now live in Lancaster. Anyone would think I *liked* the Burberry-clad blackguards….
But it’s Canterbury I want to talk about today. Canterbury, where I went to secondary school and routinely had the stuffing kicked out of me for getting good marks in a test and standing up to people who called me a freak for this. Canterbury where no less than 12 of the girls (and probably a few of the boys) left at 15 to have children. Canterbury that I was so glad to leave. Only to come to Lancs. Oh boy…..
Whether it is the hair that looks as if it’s been dipped in engine oil to give it that crisp lustre, the *enormous* clown pendants, (teddy-bears are also quite popular in C-bury) or the lycra-mix clothing that gives the gals the impression of being strapped in, this place is a **** haven. I could go on about the ridiculous make up, or the fact that it was here I learned to tell fake from real Adiddas by the number of stripes, but I really do feel that it all get summed up by the addition that was once made to the sign of Thannington Without, which really shouldn’t be classed as more than an extra polyp on the **** cancer that is Canterbury:
“Thannington Without,” it originally read. “Classy Birds,” some wag had added….
