Whilst I’m a High Town man and have always been a High Town man and unless something really bad happens, like me getting flattened by a thirty tonne truck, I will always be a High Town man because I believe being a High Town man is essentially a good thing rather than a bad thing, i reckon that most High Town folk have held an inner belief that being a High Town man, or woman, both sexes are equally capable of showing loyalty to High Town, have long since become convinced that this closure can be a force for good for High Town.
What we are talking about here is the past promotion of sin. Yes! Sin. Good High Town men, but more often than not bad promiscuous High Town women, who I reckon have been the main patrons to this High Town shop, have been popping inside the place browsing around, trying out this, that and the other, and after hours of decadent thoughts have emerged with their purchases fundamentally changed, charged and violently intent upon personal sexual gratification.
Thats right! Sin and the promotion of it. We are talking here about erring and if there’s one thing worse than sin, as far as I’m concerned, it’s the erring that leads to the sin. If there’s no errers, then there’s no erring and if there’s no erring then you have no sin. It’s simple! High Town will be a lot better off once this den of vipers closes its door for the final time.
Perhaps then, good decent honest men. Good High Town men like me can straddle the Hereford Bull or simply be slumped on a High Town bench, because we’ve supped fourteen pints of ale and are unable to stand upright, will no longer have to endure High Town women, who’ve emerged from that shop of sin, begging us to deliver to them our manly love.
I for one am glad this shop has closed. Perhaps now we can all get back to a place where there was no need for this, that and the other that required long life batteries and instead return to the days of kissing, clumsy foreplay and a hope that during the act of lovemaking we didn’t die of a heart attack brought on by clogged up arteries whilst writhing around in the good old fashioned High Town missionary position we once used before bloody Summers decided to spice up our High Town lives.