crap towns
There are lots of crap towns in England. I’m not going to name this particular crap town for fear of reprisals – so apologies if you recognise it. It’s probably isn’t yours. Could be yours, though.
Yours is by no means the worst town I’ve been to. It is however the worst one I’ve been to recently. Even the name is depressing. It’s physically impossible to smile when you say it. Stuck in traffic all the way through we had ample opportunity to observe what it has to offer – and concluded that isn’t much. There’s something vaguely despairing about it, a miserable grubbiness that penetrates everything, buildings, streets, shops, even the people. It’s scruffy and charmless, and gives no impression that people love it.
There are some lovely buildings – the school, for instance, is stunning – but, rather than making me fonder of the place I’m afraid I just pitied the architecture for ending up here. Every time I thought the high street was improving (a handsome well-kept store or bank, for example) something grotty would pop up and ruin it all over again. Amusment arcades with lots of neon (I hate those). Betting shops with drunks lolling outside – at 3.30pm on a weekday. It was all rather cheap and tawdry.
I know I sound like a snob – and when it comes to towns, sorry, but I am a bit. I come from a nice one, and think everyone deserves to live somewhere slightly attractive that they can be a bit proud of. I’m sure most of the people here don’t deserve to live somewhere this unpleasant – it’s hideous. It was nice to leave. Sadly the next town is a veritable armpit. The difference is I know some people who live in the second one and they do deserve it.