A Corpse Decaying: "People travel miles to jump from our multi-storey carpark."

I didn't vote in the last general election. I think I could have, but I didn't. I'm pretty sure that a lot of other people have given up.

What is going to save Britain now?

In Ruraltown, the elderly are like dirty, damaged vultures. They converge at awful jumble sales. They rummage and fight for socks and underpants that have been torn from the stiff corpses of their previous ancient occupiers.

In Ruraltown, I have seen a woman die in the doctor’s surgery. No one noticed until 3.00 pm.

It is always cold and dark. Unemployment in Ruraltown is, of course, staggeringly high. This part of Ruralshire is so divided along class and racial lines that it is hardly the old shire at all but a collection of tribal groupings.

Some of its outlying towns are concrete wastelands too terrible to describe.

People travel miles to jump from our multi-storey carpark. They truly do.

...

I once saw a bloke in custody, who was in my year at Ruraltown Comp. The Sergeant asked him if he could read and write before offering him the custody record to sign. He said he couldn’t. I interjected. ‘I was at school with you buddy, you can read and write for God’s sake’ he said ‘I used to be able to but I forgot how’. He hadn’t had to read or write anything for 20 years, so he simply forgot how. An ‘agency’ for everything, all on a plate. A filthy mean little plate, but a plate none the less.

I don't know.



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