Droitwich **** – A Day In The Life Of..

West Midlands

lovelynova has written about droitwich from the eyes of a young person who works there, so the perspective is not as broad as it should be. Not only am I older but I lived there most of my life and I also lived on the westlands.(don’t no more, ha!)

‘Nova says you’re no more than 6m away from a ****,not true…go to the P.O. on giro day and you’ll be no more than 6mm away from one as we all squeeze in and wait for our wages from the government. Then go KrapSave and join the queue at the checkout to pay for the No Frills shopping with said Wages. Included in the shopping cart is frosty jack – forget white lightening…far too dear. Then continue for our post shop(lift) cuppa at a suitable range of caffs. Word of caution when in the caff, please remember to wipe the table’s previous occupants offspring’s snot off the underside to save having a green lap later, and wipe that dubious looking ketchup smear off the seat.. it was ketchup wasn’t it?

Shopping trip and cuppa over we then wait for the taxi home. We think by getting a taxi we are better than the other *****-they catch the bus. Also as a fat **** I can chat up the driver on the way home and if I’m lucky I can get wiv him and don’t have to pay no more. In fact he’ll probably be paying me in a few months….maintanence for his kid that his wife knows nuffin about.

Next,’Nova travels into Droitwich to work-Ha ha ha. Never heard anything so ridiculous! Why? All I gotto do is get the maintanence off my 5 kids 5 fathers and me benefits, sell the stuff I shoplifted earlier to the neighbours, go round me mates place and drink their No Frills coffee instead of mine(saves me money dunnit). Sorted.

I have my own small business though. A select client base. Marketing and catering. I sell ’em smak and help ’em shoot up. Of course I blim theirs down and cut it, hey someone’s gotto pay for my own Habit-it’s not my fault I’m unemployed.

When I’m not shop(lifting) I can sit and watch the world go by and see fellow Monners, all in the comfort of the Precinct. Maybe it’s my age but I can only get their attention by shoutin at the top of me voice” Oi, Mush ya fukka”, followed by “Whatthefockareyoulookinatyousnottybitch”, to some better-dressed-than-me passerby.

Home-time, back to my terrace on the westlands to play “P-Poppin'” at top whack. Of course I have to yell the kids to come back (how else would they hear when a) the music’s so loud and b) they’re probably robbin the local shop, which is at least a 10 minute waddle from home). They probably can’t be assed to come back as I’m only going to get them to go to the chippy for their tea-they’d be there anyway spending the proceeds of the robbery.

Now westlands is a rough place and I’m hard ,so goodnight all I’m off to bed with me baseball bat for company if you have ideas of getting yer own back for this article…..Nite Awl

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