In Preston, angles are important. Sadly, I’m not referring to trigonometric analyses, I’m talking about a number of p***y practises. Your cap must stand, without fail, at no less than 90 degrees upwards from your line of vision. Also, when walking down the streets of Preston, you must sway from side to side by no fewer than 25 degrees from vertical. This will allow you to occupy the entire pavement, well, until….
I come along. Yes, I take pride in walking directly at c***s to ensure they realise that people who DON’T possess all jewellery from pages 284-293 of the Argos catalogue, who DON’T feel the need to roll up one tracksuit trouser leg and tuck it in their sock, who DON’T ritually wear black fleece gloves, also walk this earth.
There is one pub near the University library which has a front door up some steps, and a side window. Two gangs of c***s hang out…one group out front, one group packed around the window gawping at the punters inside with more than 4 pence to their name. You’ll witness mothers and fathers discussing the future of their child. Are these parents respectable, company-owning executives? No, they’re Darren and Sharon, AKA Busta and Shaz, and they’re debating whether their out-of-wedlock-mistake kid should be named Becks or Wayno.
Come with me people, walk against these non-educated pavement cleaners and stamp them out!