For some reason, my parents thought a day trip to Plymouth would be fun. It's rare that my parents and I agree on anything, but within minutes, we'd all decided Plymouth had been a Big Mistake.
Or, as my mum put it, "Even TK Maxx is crap."
Plymouth is one of those towns that is all featureless mall or flyover. The shops are all crowded with screaming children, the old patrol in golf carts, and every young women squeezes her pregnancy through stretch lycra.
The only saving grace was one rough man shopping topless. And even then, he had his girlfriend's name tattooed across his shoulders. In gothic font. And yes, that name was PAULINE.
It was a town that the people wanted to escape from. It's the only place where I've seen a bookshop devoted entirely to Fantasy and SciFi, where fat man smelling of their own sick queued patiently at the counter to see if volume three of the Scriptomagnotherion was in yet.
My Dad has one solution to life's problems. And even that failed. As the rain poured down, he sighed. "They don't even seem to have an Indian restaurant."
2 comments:
Hey! You're dissing the city that was my home for 18 months. I loved it, though granted I lived on the Hoe (stop it) and at that point there was an Indian restaurant.
It was called Purple Haze, wasn't it?
And actually a mere couple of minutes walk from there was a games shop that did an amazing range of Call of Cthulhu figures. And now that I think about it, there was a comic shop just round the corner from that. Blimey, Plymouth had it all!
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