Welcome to Frome, truly the C**v jewel in this septic isle. However, Frome C***s have fallen on hard times as whereas the ‘X’-reg Saxo or Clio is the staple of Northern C***s, ours have to make do with ‘L’-reg Citroen AXs. I have even observed 15-year old Renault 5s hacking it over the bridge at warp factor 7. My personal favourite is a ‘J’ reg Fiesta I often see on my way to work – dodgy home made black/white paint job, big bore exhaust and fat bastard with baseball cap thinking he’s looking cool in his pile of s***e. The ‘in thing’ amongst younger C***s is to hang around outside Argos wearing your ‘Donnay special’ tracksuit and training vest, smoking and generally being a pain in the a**e. Even the p***y who used to sell The Big Issue on the footbridge from the library car-park has moved on, saying ‘There goes the neighbourhood’. As always, the MaccyD’s on the industrial estate is a favourite hangout of the pre-pubescent rat-boy, whereas ‘mature’ C***s loiter down the precinct. I went into the Post Office today and each of the young Chavettes behind the counter had grat-issue facial piercings. I nearly vomited. Every morning I awake and thank God I very rarely need to go into town these days. Besides, there’s f*ck all there when you get there anyway.