Timperley… the very name conjures up images of winding leafy lanes, lazy afternoons spent playing pooh-sticks in the brook, tombolas and the distant thwock of leather on willow down at the cricket club.
However, there is a darker side to this English village.. an evil who’s presence is felt from the local chippy to the famous old golf course, from the bus stops to the library. An evil which causes the good men of Timperley to draw their plans in hushed whispers against it, for few dare speak it’s name aloud. For it’s name is C**V.
When I was a nipper we used to hang out in the now c**v-infested areas, outside the local shops, on the golf course, anywhere we could smoke our JPS and swig our mum’s Cinzano. But the threat of being driven home by the local bobby to our furious parents was enough for us to draw the line at the odd car-egging or mass-mooning. Now though it seems the line has been crossed and anything goes. The streets of Timperley are awash with hooded pillocks with fake Moss Side accents waiting for the opportunity to pounce, 30 handed, on an old lady and extract her false hip which they will then no doubt sell to fund for their Cider habit.
Now there’s no doubt the old biddies are the only ones still even entering the multiple churches in the village, but this is surprisingly a no-c**v zone, likely not out of respect but more for the brutally honest lack of s**t to do around a church, no matter how hard they try. There’s no one to mug, not enough donations worth stealing and there’s a Sainsbury’s and Co-op over the road anyway.
However the one thing no Timporlean can stand, is the ghastly Frank Side bottom statue they’ve implemented, of course, the chaos had their fun for a while drawing penile and vaginal imagery but alas, not even sharpie can fend against the ruddy council; who would rather knock down the library than fix all the bloody pot holes in the roads.
Of course, there was always just one answer that will satiate our British needs: build a Costa. The c***s and old biddies can now enjoy their low fat soy mocha frappè and overpriced selection of cake on one of the infinite rainy afternoons. And then compensate their overspending by nicking an 89p pizza from Iceland before heading off back to The Grange for pre drinking for a night in the park, because the tram stop is over a mile from the actual village and God forbid there be any busses to Altrincham that are on time and less than a fiver one way.
Yes Timperley is a quite village, full of old people, families and Wellington C**v School invalids, all mooching their days away, slowly dying of boredom and soy latte poisoning.