Welcome to Boston – Lincolnshire’s second town, and during the Middle Ages, lucky enough to be the country’s second most important port! Sadly though, the locals have failed to evolve since Boston’s heyday, and Boston has become an unfortunate backwater, reachable only by the daily train to Nottingham or Skegness, which sometimes, arrives!
Like most of the 4 Bostonians annually lucky enough to enter secondary education, I left the town at the first available opportunity. Upon retruning to Bost-Hole for the festive season, the town I once resided in already provided me with a vast culture shock. Where in Birmingham I had got used to playing “Spot the ****”, back here we resumed our old family favourite of “Spot the non-****”. Sat in the window at Wetherspoons, you could have a whale of a time watching the little ***** and chavettes whizz around in their souped up Saxos all day, just for the sake of it. This practice is commonly known as a cruise, and at least 5 cars can always be seen lined up outside Maaaaarks and Shpaaaaaarks in the Market Place, ready to begin. Normally the owners are blasting hard house, and shouting abuse at anyone not in their **** club (though such people are in Boston few and far between).
Being a **** does not come cheap; brands such as Hackett, Henri Lloyd and Timberland can even be found in rather expensive Coneys; and this is where the main divide between Boston’s two types of **** appears. There are those who wear fake, and those who don’t. The ones who wear real stuff should really know better, and are almost worse. In fact a lot of them come from respectable families and even attended Grammar School. I guess it is just peer pressure, after all, what is there for you here other than Chavdom?
Boston’s ***** are in fact so evolved they even have jobs in such respectable shops as New Look and Woolworths, although most of them work in Home Bargains, which has on average 6 **** employees per brave customer. After a delightful day spent shopping in the “quaint” market town (which boasts one men’s clothes shop and a brand spanking new drive-thru McDonalds), why not sample the local nightlife?
Boston boasts a grand total of three nightspots, “AfterDark” “Cactus Jacks” and “Eclipse”. The former two are owned by the same people, who obviously have a good sense of humour in the form of the clubs’ slogan “A touch of pure class”. In reality, Eclipse only attracts those deemed as “Goffics” by the locals, while the latter two clubs are both handy on public holidays, when both rooms in AfterDark are filled up with obese women with their hair in myriad tiny plaits then tied back, and adorning enough golden chains with trinkets with movable parts to cause their rather hunched appearancesm not to mention their menfolk in their Rockports and tasteful chains. This lot enjoy dancing the night away like slags and monkeys respectively before causing the obligatory fight and ******* their auntie’s boyfriend.
Well, imagine my profound distaste at coming home this Christmas to discover even my family had started to succumb to the newest social disease! My sister was sporting her newest lovely charm bracelet, this one is covered in little sea creatures; a snip at £50! Like I say, it doesn’t have to come cheap. It just looks it.
Just as an added bonus, a guide to some of the colourful local vernacular, guaranteed to make you feel like a local in minutes!
Erdit = /I heard it/ =Whatever are you on about/Shut up!
Ow bad = /How bad/ = How ridiculous
Sozzard, kid = /Sorry, my child/ = I’m frightfully sorry old bean
(This is a rare example of *****’ ability to use sarcasm)
Ya staart’in’? =/ Are you starting?/ = Would you like a fight?
Shpaaark ya =/ I’ll spark you / = I’ll knock you out