Gateway to Ultraboredom and Chava Hell
“The Gateway to Dovedale” proudly proclaim the battered signs as you enter this deceptively pretty little town (pop 6000). And yes, the scenery and the town itself look very nice. But this is a little town with more w*****s,inbreds, cider-drinking scrotes and uber-c***s than anywhere else, I swear to God. I can’t wait to see the back of the local nobs who cruise round and round the single one-way system in their cruddy little Novas, en route to the local Scummerfield car park, superior smiles on their fat inbred faces as they pass for the hundredth time(what is the attraction?). Or, for a change, they might hang around outside the only late-night takeaway, and throw chicken bones on the pavement.
Once a year in this town is held the Shrovetide Football. Once a proud country tradition, this is now an excuse for half the thugs of the county to come down for two days of piss-up, brawling and general violence against which everything gets boarded up like a war-zone. This year, on my way home, I stepped over an old boy lying face down on the pavement, in a pool of blood..
By all means, come to visit. For crying out loud don’t live here. The town’s total lack of employment and location miles from anywhere ensures complete and utter grinding boredom is likely to ensue within about two days. Unless you fancy driving to Stoke…