Clearly, to you or I, an out of town shopping centre can not rightfully be classed as a town – quite the opposite in fact.
However, putting oneself in the shoes of the average retard ‘Chav’ allows the possibility of seeing things from their point of view. A short bus ride from the seething estates dotted around Bristol brings certain members of our favourite sub-species to a world of hitherto unimagined possibility. A McDonalds, a KFC, a Burger King.
A Pizza Hut. A Nando’s, for special occasions. A Spud-U-Like.
And all this fast food on top of the shops – Ciro Citterio for the wedding suit, and several jewellers specialising in the large hoop, and ‘SPECIAL NAN’ type items usually only seen close up when reluctantly mingling with those below a certain social-economic threshold, whilst waiting for a flight at Gatwick Airport.
Clearly, this is a town then. And crucially, one with a roof.
I have a theory about just why it is so many chavs love this place.
Like a Chav, this out of town centre is aimless. It’s the kind of place you wander around, never knowing why you’re there, and then getting angry because you didn’t go somewhere else.
One can walk from one end to the next and back as many times as possible without getting wet, or arrested.
There are burgers.
There are phones to vandalise.
But there are no market stalls, so maybe I’m just talking a load of old bollocks.