The subject of Nantwich’s integrity has been called up many times over the last decade. This is a place where the Lords and Ladies of Aston, the Barony of Acton and the Magisters of Wybunbury have long considered to be the most ‘urban’ destination that they are willing to drag little Jonty and Elisabet(no H) out on a shopping trip. Who can blame them? With the numerous delicatessens, several beautiful flower displays and about 84% of the world’s historical buildings, the most danger you’re ever likely to encounter in Nantwich is the deathly glare you get from some old lady as she sees you accidentally drop your Werther’s Original on the pavement (back in her day, it could have fed a family). The people of Nantwich are proud (and rightly so), for when ‘outlanders’ hear their town’s name, they immediately associate it with the ‘good values of a time gone by.’
But now, they will tell you that there is a slow, but sure hostile takeover. What do they call these invaders? ‘Creweites’ (nee Crewetons). The last ten years have seen Nantwich’s population of track suit wearing, benefits claimers nearly triple (at least according to Gerald who can regularly be found sat on the bench by the war memorial). Locals say that these ‘yobbos’ have been the primary source of all the town’s woes this past decade. The pot hole on Welch Row? Blame it on the Creweites. Flowers outside the church not coming into bloom this year? Blame it on the Creweites. Local swan population dwindling? Blame it on the Creweites. In some way, surely, we can find a way to pin it on them, right?
This has been a serious point of contention, only exacerbated by ‘raging club scene’ that is the aforementioned Welsh Row on a Friday night. If you were to ask your elderly Nantwich neighbors, they would tell you that this is exactly where and when 100% of Nantwich’s crime is committed. As police pick up the odd drunk up from outside of Varietys (the improper spelling of which has caused numerous complaints to the local council) for disgracefully spilling their kebab on the Louis Vuittons of some poor girl waiting in the line outside of Nakatcha’s (a vast contrast in it’s own right), most Nantwich party-goers typically enjoy a hassle free night.
Should you find yourself looking for the odd ‘pick-me-up-on-the-go-champagne’, Nantwich has an abundance of Supermarkets, approximately one to every resident. From the ‘untouchable’ Aldi, to the more ‘appropriate’ Mark’s and Spencers, locals are never lacking on the grocery front, with most over the age of 65 preferring to spend their Winter heating allowance on overpriced bourbon biscuits than be seen in Aldi.
If, however, you would instead prefer a sit down meal, Nantwich can of course cater to you. The new, younger, ‘hipper’ middle class of Nantwich and its outlying areas frequent their religious sanctuary “Residence” on an almost weekly basis. Here, they partake in rituals to replace their blood with a ‘Vintage 95 d’Armhailac Red’
