Where we live is a smallish town, a town with an amazing number of takeaway emporiums and beauty salons.
There is very clear evidence as you travel through the town that the takeaways are being heavily frequented, with ‘heavily’ being the defintive word, but not so much evidence on the use of the salons. Maybe some of these women should ask for their money back as the treatments clearly aren’t working.
It’s a town big enough to have it’s own town hall and health centre, small enough to retain a village-y feel. A nice little town to walk round, it has a lot of interesting features from it’s days as a cotton town that you don’t see when you’re whizzing past in a car.
One of it’s main characteristics though is it’s bizarre method of naming it’s streets. It’s not unusual for a road to have two or even three names, which confuses the hell out of travellers. Maybe that was the idea and it was in fact a cunning plan concocted by a few town xenophobes.
You can see that strained look on the faces of strangers when they stop for directions and you’re telling them, “Now, this road turns into……… and then into……..”
You know the look, it’s that look of “Oh, God! They’re making it up as they go along. I’ve stopped to ask directions from the village idiot.”
The look slowly creeps over their faces as perceived, though incorrect, realisation dawns and they politely try to end the conversation to ask another person who they think may have more control over their faculties. It doesn’t work though. They only go through the same thing all over again. No wonder not many people come back twice.
Ha! The cunning plan worked then!
Maybe when they built the town a directive came from the ‘big boy’ council in the next town who we have to kowtow to saying, ‘Here’s a big bag of street names, make sure you use them all.’
So use them all they did. Now we have Alopecia Avenue which turns into Dyspepsia Drive which turns into Salmonella Street. Even residents of the town aren’t always altogether sure where they are. You can here them on their mobile phones, ‘Eya, whirr o yu? Gnaw! Not Leprosy Lane, yer plank. I’m i’ Gou’ Gardens!!’ (translations from Lanky dialect available on request).
Still, it least it keeps things interesting.