If Hot Fuzz was real, Cleobury Mortimer would be it! Where do I start with this strange little town. It’s basically a village on one main road but if the strange locals hear you say that, they’ll come for you with pitchforks and garlic.
There’s more cars than people, the high street constantly smells of fumes from all the lorries that use the main road as a shortcut. Then you get the thick smoke that’s hovers above the houses when everyone starts their wood fires. So much for being eco warriors as most of them claim.
For a very small village *sorry town* there’s so many crackheads it’s unbelievable, but then again, there’s nothing else to do in this place so I can’t blame them really. Then you have the local wannabe “Roadmen” who look more like the Village People, thinking they’re bad boys ******* outside the chippy and shops. They forget they live in the countryside surrounded by fields and sheep they’d squeel like pigs if they lived in the city.
Every Tuesday night you hear the bell ringers practice at the church but they never seem to get any better. One of the pubs [allegedly] has swingers sessions once last orders are called you see them leaving sweating out at half 2 in the morning knee’s wobbling and trust me it ain’t just from the drink hahaha. And how can I forget the [allegedly] loopy shop owner who [allegedly] robbed half the towns Christmas lights and [allegedly, phew -Ed] closed her shops down after falling out with everyone in town.
Then you get the rugby boys marching around on a Friday and Saturday night thinking they run the place yet they couldn’t run a bath the saps then get their mums walking round on the Sunday apologising for their antics the night before. I feel bad for people who spend their whole life in this town. The league of gentlemen comes to mind. “You’ll never leave”.