Chavs, that's a new one on me... Lakenham is populated mostly by Townies. I hate them so much; soaking up their mouth-fed media, listening to their uninnovative sounds, speaking in vulgar terms on topics so mundane: "Huh, look where he parked his car," followed by five minutes of insulting their friend. They all know me around here, though, since I used to go to school with them. For eight years. I don't know whether that's good or bad.
See, if they didn't know me, they might be more inclined to hammer me into the ground with my own bones when they spot me striding home in a royal blue blazer every afternoon. On the other hand, if they didn't recognise me, they probably wouldn't try and wien me into their shallow interchanges of crass speech every time they come into the shop. The best ones are the ones who ignore me.
On the other hand, I wouldn't say they're the worst bunch to populate my suburb. The alcoholic who tried to steal alcohol from the shop this morning was a sad case. I haven't been that shaken up since the helicopter fell on Dr Romano.
But getting back on topic, I don't like townies. I wouldn't say it's a case of economic divisions: it's a case of attitudes towards society and other people, character and personality. And pronunciation. And their Thames Valley accents. And their lewdness and obnixiousness.
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