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And I'll Tell You Something For Nothing!


bobby47
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I'll be damned if I ever set foot inside that salty hulk of a new shopping development. Never! I'd sooner give up ale, quit smoking and stop nibbling upon pork rind than ever tippy toe inside that place and part with a single penny piece.

Never! Ever! They can dispatch a team of highly trained negotiators to my threshold demanding that I come outside, stagger down to this monument to stupidity and simply have a look around. I'll tell them, 'clear off. Be gone. Go bother some other fool. I'm watching Whitecross Housewives on me web cam and I ain't leaving'.

They can threaten me with a thrice yearly bin collection and it'll have no impact upon me. They can lock me in cupboard with Aylestone Voice and despite the hardship of it all, when they open the door after a week and say, 'times up', I'll beg them for another fortnight rather than accompany my wife into that shopping centre.

And as for her, my wife of forty years, she was waving her ten pound Debenhams Gift Voucher in my fat face last night and I told her what Im telling you. 'We ain't bloody going'. It'll take more than ten quid off your next pair of knickers to get me within a stones throw of that bloody place.'

Quite simply, I ain't going and anyone who does attend thinks very differently to me. Im a High Town Man. I've always been a High Town man and I'll always will be a High Town man. Even when all the shops in High Town are closed and there's clearly not a hope in hell of purchasing any food from our once beautiful town centre, still, even then, when there's nobody to trade with me, still I'll be a High Town Man.

I'll starve before I ever visit that monstrous place. Never!

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Oh I know what they all think Denise! 'The fool doesn't mean it! He ain't going to starve to death! It's all talk'. Well it ain't all talk. I mean it. I'd sooner starve than consume food purchased from within that Empire of Dirt.

I tell you now buddy, once the food is gone in High Town, that's it for me. I could be laid out on a bench up bloody Eign Gate and if some Good Samaritan approached me, quickly realised I was starving and I was offered a bite off a lovely cream cake and a generous slice of a fully ripened juicy Mellon, I'd say, 'show me the receipt'. And if that bloody receipt indicated that the aforementioned bits of lovely life saving food were the result of a financial transaction from say Waitrose I'd say, 'be gone with your cream cake and your bloody melon. I'd rather starve. Im a High Town man. Always have been a High Town man and always will be a High Town man.'

Im a man of principle and nobody, no matter how kind and thoughtful they are will ever persuade me to eat a cream cake and a slice of Melon if they were purchased or purloined outside of High Town. In fact, Im getting myself so angry about this whole thing, if anybody ever approaches me with a cream cake and a slice of a juicy fully ripened Melon, I ain't going to take responsibility for what I might do if I happen to be in possession of a wooden mallet.

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Denise, She's going tomorrow with me daughter. You've interrupted us rowing. I've hidden her purse and she's upstairs searching for it.

Excuse me for a moment Denise...' You ain't bloody going you rotten old bag. I'll be damned if you feed me anything but High Town food'.

Sorry about that Denise....'basically we've got two cupboards now. One for High Town food which is mine and one for food that ain't from High Town which is now bloody hers.

That its come to this! She's armed with bloody gift vouchers now. Waving them in me face shouting, ' you're useless in bed and Im no longer a High Town wife'.

I've gotta go Denise. She's going for the frying pan!

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They've just left the house. Course she found her purse didn't she. She said, 'your eczema is playing up I see. Would you like a pot of ointment to aid your fascinating skin condition and ease the itching?'

I said, 'you rotten old cow.' Cunning bloody woman! She then said, 'Mind if I get you the ointment, you know it won't be High Town ointment don't you?'

Got me over a barrel hasn't she. I either sit here itching encouraging these two hand reared ferrets to mate or I prostitute me principles and accept that when it comes to the treatment of eczema I've gotta apply non High Town ointment to my fat face.

I told her, 'whilst Im a High Town man and always will be a High Town man, given the dreadful circumstances I now find myself in, I'm reluctantly prepared to apply this ointment to the hives that now blight my fat face. Mind, don't bring me any of their food back. I'll sooner starve than eat it.

And why would I allow myself to starve to death? Because Im a High Town man and until recently, I was wed to a High Town woman who apparently, is no longer a High Town wife.

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What because I can't resist twenty kinds of focaccia or a TKMaxx identical to the one quarter of a mile closer that closed down on Thursday?

 

Actually it's sadder than that.  We went to take a look at the new road markings.  We cycled right round but didn't manage to make it back to High town without being abused by an obese, scowling matron in a 4x4 when we dared to share the shared space.  After she contemptuously gestured at me for having my wheel two inches over the edge of the pavement area my partner caught up with her and suggested she had more money than manners.  Before descending into a torrent of abuse she managed to complain that I was "in [her] way".  Seriously something needs to be done about the attitude of drivers in Hereford.  I noticed that we were the only cyclists in sight and this isn't an accident.   There's a pun in there somewhere.  

 

Interestingly the people we encountered in High Town weren't much better: it's as if cyclists are caught in some kind of pincer movement between rude, impatient drivers and rude, impatient pedestrians.  Obviously we were wheeling our bikes by then and J stopped to let a man with a disability  to cross in front of him. About five seconds in the woman behind him was tutting loudly.   Is our society just populated by arseholes now? 

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Went for a bike ride this morning down towards Bartestree.They are laying the new substation cable from Capler Lane to the Texaco garage in Ledbury road with quite a stretch of traffic controlled lights which were on green when I went through them only to be met by a van that had obviously gone through a red light giving me some abuse when I gave him the bottle shake manoeuvre with my hand.Some people have dirty mouths.

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