A historic market town situated on the Norfolk/Suffolk border and surrounded by rolling fields and picturesque villages, Diss does have the potential to be, or at least sound like a nice place. And as you enter the backward Norfolk metropolis for the first time you are none the wiser of the hidden crapfest that is this town. Its when you enter the actual town centre (if you can call it that) that things start to dramatically fall downhill.
The first thing you notice is its abundance of charity shops, card shops and discount stores selling fake posters and washing up bowls. And what more to top this delightful picture off that the stench of drains (generally located outside one of Diss’ many godawful, underage drinker-rife pubs) and an abundance of miserable OAP’s collecting their Giro’s and spending them on charity shops that smell like someone has just crawled into the rack of polyester 80’s shirts and died (after urinating on themselves)!
What’s more every shop shuts at five, so walking down the main street at 5:30 is like walking through a ghost town just hit by a nuclear war, the only things open being the dodgy ‘American Fried Chicken’ and burger outlets that open till the early hours serving inebriated, underage drinkers kebabs and burgers. All in a county that is said to be Nelsons favourite (He must of been absolutely off his nut when he said that).
