Once upon a time,in the forgotten land of Tameside there was a strange little town called Ashton under lyne. In this town there was once a thriving outdoor market, good shops and nightlife.
Thanks to the powers that be and a few numpties, all that magic has gone forever. Now it’s Mos Eisley and the stormtroopers are on a permanent lunch break and can’t be bothered to look for anything – as it’s all been stolen and sold on.
Should you decide to travel to this backwater of humanity, with more than a touch of skank about it, I suggest some handy tips for those thrill seekers looking to shorten their horizons.
It is generally good but late at night, on trams in particular, the local youths have the most annoying habit of using them for target practice.
Ashton once had many high street names but now has many budget shops, but not as many as Stamford streets famous charity shop quarter mile!
Once the cream of Ashton in the 80s/90s before the rise of staly vegas, Ashton was a magnet for a night out!
Now that cream has turned sour and started a family of its own, has an attitude problem, no job or education and now sits in one of those pubs at 10am everyday, still wondering why.
The Xmas market consists of 3 stalls, a beer gazebo and a not-so-merry-go-round. Accompanied by “Christmas time, gristled hoes that whine”. On a crackly amp.
Out at the other end now… don’t forget to wash your hands and close the door on this place behind you.