Somerset is known as “the land of the summer sun,” but it rarely seems to shine around this ****-hole. Once the weary traveller has penetrated an array of light-industrial estates so hideous and desperate as to make grown-men weep blood, one arrives in the town centre of Taunton; the county’s first second rate market town. Once the hub of a regional and ancient cider industry, Taunton is now best characterised by 1960’s architecture of such awesome putridity that many of the structures (or “buildings” as the toothless locals so quaintly call them) would qualify as bad sixth form college art projects. However, once one has looked up from the gutter and cleaned away the vomit, there is an even worse array of sights to behold – the local kevs.
For Taunton is indeed the Capital City of the People’s Republic of Kev. On the average Saturday afternoon, the Kevs can be seen strolling the streets clasping cans of stella and smoking cheap cigarettes, pausing only to spit on a passer-by who looks marginally wealthier than they (they might even have some kind of employment), or to make some kind of life-observation, the vulgar stupidity of which could bend steel girders. Ducking into a local pub, such as The Perkin Warbeck opposite the once grand County Hotel, the observer will notice that the filth filling the streets outside has oozed its way in with them. The local kevs fill the bar, their pay as you go mobiles cluttering every surface. Many are pretneding to be involved in some kind of grey quasi-criminal enterprise which would seem to give their pointless, utterly worthless lives some form of meaning. Many female kevs are to be seen and heard shrieking like half-starved hyenas, twitering around bottles of Smirnoff Ice, and waiting helplessly for the attempted **** which will inevitably occur at around eleven that evening in one of the alleyways around the St.Mary’s church. Since a Silver Back gorilla would think twice about mating with one of these ****, it is surprising that so many manage to get pregnant, but it is a testament to the degree of total hopelessness at the bottom of every kev’s Stella drenched soul that this is possible. Most of Taunton’s kevs dream of marriage, and of one day owning their own excremental council house on one of Taunton’s blighted estates – the areas in question resembling Hamburg or Dresden after three days of heavy Allied firebombing in the 1940’s. They talk of some day collecting dole checks from the Government, and teaching their little subhumans how to swear and fight, and vomiting their way through the sick joke called life like everyone else they’ve ever known. Still, we must not judge; even they are entitled to a peice of happiness like the rest of us. Its just a shame we’re not entitled to dig a new canal around Taunton, wall it off from the rest of the United Kingdom, and preserve it for posterity as a zoo of the most farcical and monstrously ugly human trash that ever existed.
