I'm too cool for Poole

I always say “stick to what you’re good at” and it’s a good philosophy. I’m good at whinging and moaning, so that’s what I do, and I do it well. The English are good at stuff too, for instance :

• Getting hideous tattoos



• Being fat



• Whinging about the weather (although admittedly, their weather is fucking atrocious)



• Having two planned pregnancies before they reach twenty
  

Things the English are not good at:

• Dressing (seriously, chav is sooooo last decade)



• Sport



• Food (with the exception of fish and chips, and mushy peas)



• Beaches



• Holiday resorts built around those beaches



• Holiday towns built around the resorts built around the beaches

I knew very little of Poole before going there for two weeks for work, but I soon learned that it is a major ’oliday destination for British folk that live around the area (mostly London) innit. Poole beach is aaaalrraaaaaaight, in a kind of “Blouberg is a cool beach if it was the last beach on earth and I only have 1 hour to live and I don’t have time to go anywhere else” kind of way, but really its nothing special. Despite the beach being of only ‘meh’ standard, it attracts a hell of a lot of pasty folk, and they all descend upon the coarse sand and freezing water every “English summer” to get some use out of their metal detectors and to ogle each others pasty manboobs. Sometimes they swim, but not often.

Not much happens in Poole, but on a Thursday night, all the classy Poole-folk break out their Kappa tracksuits and Burberry scarves and head down to the quay, where they consume many pints of piss-warm ale, and stare vacuously at the mounds of scrap metal piled high on the opposite quay. Often there are fireworks on a Thursday night, but not before there have been lots of fights, and everyone is nicely blotto, innit.

I was lucky, I only spent two weeks in Poole, some people have to actually LIVE there. I know, shame. You guys must be getting pretty jealous right around now, because I got to go to Poole and you had to stay at home enjoying the relatively balmy African summer. Don’t get you knickers in a twist though Philimon, my new mates from Poole are going to be visiting us all in three years to show us what it really means to be a football fan. And they told me they are leaving their contraception at home, so hide your daughters. Innit.

Peace out.

Ps The fish and chips in Poole is actually damn good (from the place we went to anyway), and boring as it is, its infinitely better than the cesspool of filth and aggression that is London. Seriously, what is it with London? That place is such a dump. Thanks to Brendan and Lauren though for looking after me, Asher for the free food and wine, and Sparry for the fush un chups.