Bridgwater is best described as a ‘meeting place’ in that like an open cess-pit, the thickest ***** tend to accumulate here. These are the people that cut themselves shaving and place the plaster on the mirror. Cro-magnon man would have no trouble fitting-in here though his wife would need to get a ‘wide load’ tattoo across the top of her **** to do likewise.
Bridgwater, like Australia, was originally populated by crooks, convicts, rogues vagabonds and sharks. Unlike Australia, Bridgwater still is (locals have three rows of teeth). Five-times winner of the Elizabeth Duke ‘Most sovereign-style rings per capita’ award, Bridgwater is the living embodiment of what happens when brothers and sisters marry. The local population consists of three types of citizen; ‘Lockels’ (locals), ‘Grockels’ (those who have moved here) and ‘Emmets’ (’emmet come here for their holidays). Each despises the latter for its affluence and the former as effluence. When people move to Bridgwater it adds to the gene-pool, which is a good thing. Up until a few years back, if the whole town had posed for a photo there would have been a thousand people but only three faces (including the dog). Things are slowly improving although the proliferation ginger hair and turned-eyes is still noticeable.
Bridgwater never noticed the depressions, power-cuts, shortages and strikes of the seventies as nobody had a job anyway so it was business as usual. The arrival of the Cellophane factory gave the town its nickname ‘Stinky Bridgwater’ and those who could put-in for a housing exchange went to live in Taunton (where the Toffs live) or got on the wrong bus and went to Bristol. When the Cellophane factory closed, people expected the stink to clear but it hasn’t. It turns out the factory wasn’t to blame, it was the combined stench of blow, McDonalds wrappers, unwashed armpits and minges coming from the Hamp estate that had been the source all along.
The shady bayous, rhynes and drainage ditches that tie together a patchwork of scrubland, council-estates and upturned burning Vauxhalls gained notoriety when Bridgwater was chosen as the preferred location for the film ‘Deliverance’. Had the local population been prettier, cleverer and cleaner, they might have secured acting parts too. On visiting the town, Burt Reynolds was heard to say ‘My sweet Jesus Christ. I don’t have to stick my head up a cow’s *** to know it stinks but this is somethin’ else’.
The best thing about Bridgwater? Driving past it fast, on the M5.
“I hate life and Watchet” – said a poignant piece of graffiti
Bridgwater, take your time driving through (with the doors locked)
Wiveliscombe: sh*te rolled down hill and collected in one glorious cesspit
Glastonbury: it’s hard to find anyone who isn’t blowing shamanic smoke up their own ****
Frome: Trapped in Vegan Hell
Bath, Somerset – needs a good clean!
Chard: The town where the garbage men make deliveries
Weston-super-Mare, A Seaside ‘holiday town’ hellhole
Yeovil, neatly situated in the **** end of nowhere