Thursday, 5 March 2009


I grew up in Preston, right. At 17, I realised something I'd suspected for a while was true: the best thing about the place was the road out, so, I utilised it and managed to put a healthy nine hour journey between me and it! Sitting here now, shaking my head, half in bewilderment, half in despair, and, alarmingly I've been doing that for about four and a half years, or to put it another way, since I moved back to Preston.

Hated it as child and positively loathe it as adult. No matter how many whistles and bells 'they' try to adorn this town with, the fact remains it's a bit of a cultural cess-pit (did I just say "bit"?). Preston has two redeeming features the Avenham Park area and the bus station, for very different reasons. Yep, thats kind of it really. It doesn't really cater for arty types. I've been spoilt over the years having lived in areas of outstanding natural beauty and ,err, Manchester. Ahh, Manchester: a place where you can go into town between 4:30pm and 7pm in the evening ( as opposed to pm in the morning, clearly) avoiding the risk of being flattened by a bombardment of tumbleweeds. That said, I have nothing against tumbleweeds. I make joke, but, I find this place truly depressing.

Basically, I moved back to Preston because I fell in love. I was very ill at the time and made some odd decsions, another one being the purchase a brand new ford KA outright, like I said I was ill, and wanted hassle free motoring; "How much?" "Have you got in in that nice colour, there?" (points at pic in brochure) "No?" "Oh well, I'll have that shitty burgandy one then, ta very much" Vroom, vroom...

I seem to be waffling, there was a point to this, but now I can't remember and there is someone at the door.

No comments:

Post a Comment