God forbid, I moved to this horrid insular little boring snobbish place after years in Manchester.

The so called ‘respectable’ ‘middle-class’ (whatever that is defined to be!) people of Bingley are so far up their little rectums its a surprise they can even see the light of day. All these pretentious, deluded so called ‘decent’ (self-defined by themselves incidentally) morons do is gossip and speculate about others they deem as lesser beings, moan on to the local councilors about such world-threatening issues as dog shit and potholes, stride around like some highly cultured intelligenti with a copy of the debate-engaging Daily Express under arm and generally have the obnoxious air of the classic big fish in a tiny, tiny pond.

The outdoor market is a joke, with the six stalls it has. The shops are boring and pretentious, consisting of: hairdresser, beauty salon, hairdresser, more beauty salons, gift shop, even more beauty salons, stuffy boring ‘local’ cafe where ‘everyone knows your name’ (and your entire life story too because the locals are so nosey and unable to resist a bit of gossip, given that they have nothing else of interest to discuss), oh, yet another beauty salon.

Lets face it, at least the so called (boy snotty locals) ‘chavs’ that descend on the town from surrounding areas at the weekend bring some life to this horrid little place.


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