Huntingdon

I’m lucky enough to live 7 miles away from Huntingdon but work nearby so tend to venture in about once a week to get fresh fish from the man in the market and shop in the excellent old-fashioned hardware shop where you can still get paint that isn’t water-based and until quite recently, real moth balls that actually worked. Unfortunately, to do this, I have to navigate through a tsunami of unemployed chavsters who spend their days standing around, smoking **** and occasionally ducking into the likes of Argos or the multitude of mobile ‘phone emporiums that dominate the high street. A friend and I used to play the ********* **** spotting game where you get points for best tattoo, ugliest woman, most ludicrous kid’s name, you get the idea. Trouble was, there was no point playing because 90% of the population qualified for a perfect score. We had to resort to playing “spot the un-****” as that was more of a challenge.

The real giveaway is that there is no perceptible difference in the demographic between term time and holidays. Any time of year you will see broadly the same trackie-clad pageant of the feckless work-shy, their perma-pregnant women and their feral offspring. I look around and see that apart from the odd estate agent or local government worker, I am the only person wearing a suit that hasn’t got Addidas or Nike emblazoned on it. I also appear to be the only person who is either not sat astride a mobility scooter or walking without the aid of a stick. With the number of metal thefts going on in the area, I’m surprised there aren’t gangs of ****** snatching them off people for scrap value. It’s a great pity because most of the architecture is great, medieval buildings and churches, the Norman museum where Cromwell went to school, it’s just the tide of untermensch that washes around it that makes Huntingdon such an appalling place to visit.

I cling to the forlorn hope that one day, there will be an outbreak of mass food poisoning from the fried chicken outlet that will wipe them all out overnight so that the place can be re populated from a gene pool that can’t trace it’s line directly back to the Neanderthals.

How grim is your Postcode?