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10 Things I Hate About Nottingham

28 December 15 words: Bridie Squires

We've had enough of the Christmas cheer so here's a dose of misery from yours truly

Have a Lovely Day
Look, I’m having a shit day and that’s that. Thank you very much.

Boarded-Up Windows with Photos of Windows Stuck On
We’re not bloody blind. We can see that we’ve pulled in at Dilapidation Station, so stop trying to trick us.

Greggs. Wilkos. Starbucks. Tesco. Greggs. Wilkos. Starbucks. Tesco.
Damn you soulless corporations with your convenience and cheap goods. It’s like that Peter Kay sketch with the wedding buffet… “Vol-au-vents, chicken legs, cheese cake.” All served with a few generous splashes of Wetherspoons. Mmm.

Not proper ones who read books and that. Most of them can’t be at university. In fact, it seems they've been knocked back a few years at the School of Life. You know the type – the delinquents who shit all over the street after a couple of WKDs at Oceana, padding around barefoot and crying because they can’t pay for a taxi with their last chicken nugget.

The Right Lion
Tory twat.

Ding. Dong. The city is now Clunksville Central. Could we not have invested a squillion quid in teleportation devices instead?

No. You optimistic bastard.

Yes, the glory days were glorious. But they are well over. In fact, same goes for Torvill and Dean, Raleigh and the lace industry. It’s time to move on. Come now.

Restaurant Segregation
It’s curry house chaos on Maid Marian Way, East Asian antics down Hockley, Carnivores R Us up King Street and Queen Street, the pizza and kebab downpour that is Alfreton Road… Why can’t we all just work together as one, man?

Bus Wankers
Don’t get me wrong, I’m partial to writing my name on a condensation-plastered window. And it does make the journey all the more special when a bus driver is nice to you – the silver lining to the fact that some stinky sod will inevitably sit by your side even though EVERY OTHER SEAT is free.

Clumber Street
Sling me on that infested death trap and this misery is a whole other ball game. A ball game with no winners. Dawdling Dorrisses, barging blokes, the gaggles of McDingbats – end them all. End them.

Brian Clough. Not even from Nottingham.

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