The name says it all. The town is as wrong as it sounds. Once a pretty rural village, Dursley has been left to decay, like one of the Queen Mother’s teeth.

The old market place has become dominated by concrete and vacant charity shops. The new Sainsburys supermarket has left a 10 foot wall and acre of paving that recalls the best of 50s planning design, where the drabness of the locals’ tweed jackets is echoed in the fusty beige of the concrete slabs.

Substance abuse generally involves mainlining crazy amounts sugar during the day. And at twilight the plastic gangstas venture out. “Yo blood!” and “Sick!” they shout, in a Cotswold accent with overtones of Croydon-cockney, proving that the youth culture is as confused as the planning.


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