A review:
On reviewing this entry I came to the conclusion that this is (loosely speaking) a review of a town. My home town in fact. I’m not one for critiquing swelling metropolises (nor hamlets for that matter), but there’s a first for everything.
Wikipedia is a multilingual web-based free content encyclopedia, which surprisingly contained a sizable entry for my home town, which i’ve edited down to the essentials.
It described my home town, Watford as: A town and district (styled as a borough due to the historical charter granted by Henry VIII) 15.5 miles (25 km) north west of Charing Cross in London and within the bounds of the M25 motorway. The district has 80,000 inhabitants and is within the M25 motorway with a Metropolitan Line station at the outer edge of the London Underground system.The High Street running through the town centre is the main place for any activity at night. The part of town is sometimes referred to as the café quarter, and has a high concentration of the town’s bars, clubs and restaurants. It was reported on 30 October 2005 that Watford is the "binge drinking capital of Hertfordshire.
As you can see Watford is cultural hub and is an opportunity not to be missed! If anyone would like to apply to live here please note that they must –
- Settle for mediocrity in their jobs and for their children.
- Enjoy a plethora of McDonalds (there are four)
- Visit the town’s only library (and a children’s one at that).
- Frequent the nightlife eptimised by TopShop’s domination of fashion, so that one in three people are dressed the same.
- Eat in the quaint "Café quarter" is dominated by pizzerias and fast food outlets due social demographic lacking of any adventure.
- And culturalise themselves with Costa Coffee (or Starbucks if Costa is all cultured out).
For all my disgust and anger of my birthplace, it can be argued that such an environment has the potential to motivate and drive those who really want more. From that i guess it can deemed important to have locations such as mine. Still i’d like to be able go for a few beers in non-generic bars, have a sneaky dance to something which isn’t regurgitated pop music administered by a DJ who presses play on a glorified CD player (Does he mix? Does he fuck!) and be able to walk home without having deliver a (fake) cautionary stare to customary cokehead whom wishes to greet me. Lovely.