My parents recently moved house, so today I went to explore my new 'hood. Being in 'the north' is very different to being in the south. The people here do not have the letter 'h' and live in harmony with their 25 letter alphabet. They eat pies to keep themselves chubby and therefore insulated from the harsh winter, yet remain slim. Probably because they are ploughing the fields.
They are very friendly and so I must say hello to them all and smile. I like that, that's cool. The lack of Reiss and French Connection is lending me a degree of suffering, however.
We now live in what is called a 'cul-de-sac'. This seems to mean we live on a little dead-end street with fields around us. I left this cul-de-sac and discovered the local entertainment:
- two pubs. One for the civilised, and one for the locals. Jokes. But one is def rougher than the other.
- a shop. Fresh vegetables and eggs from the farm. I feel so country.
- a chiropodist. In case you get sore feet from ploughing the fields.
- a beauty salon. Having seen the eyebrows around here, I don't think I'll be going in. Could provide soothing treatments for those ploughing the fields.
- a Church. Every village simply MUST have one. Ours comes in a lovely taupe with moss green.
- a village hall, two play parks, tennis court, bowling green and football pitch. Jesus. Starting to be worried about meeting rosy-cheeked jolly-hockey stick types. Crossed the road quickly and stealthily. I'm curvy and I like it that way, I will not be made to chase balls outside. I am not a dog. Bet they eat ryvita and all sorts in that place.
- saved the best 'til last...an ice cream cafe and sweet shop. In a village. Fucking love this.
In all seriousness, I love my parents new home and don't want to leave. But if I stay here I will get fatter, because I don't plough.
I ate a pie...
No comments:
Post a Comment