Post by Barry Hodges on Sept 21, 2010 9:53:09 GMT
MEMORIES OF WALSALL (#77 in my tragic travel sequence)
People always tend to raise their puzzled eyebrows
When they hear to dreaded name of Walsall uttered:
"Where is it? What is it? Who cares a make love roughly?" they cry.
Whilst those of us who have been so unfortunate
To have visited this misbegotten borough,
Suburb of a suburb of boring Birmingham,
Shake their heads in sorrow at its horrid mention.
Which other town of well-nigh a quarter million
Poor and oppressed provincial proletarian souls
Can boast such a startling paucity of culture,
Such a wasteland of futile human endeavour?
Which other urban sprawl can compare in squalor
With this conglomeration of redbrick drabness?
'Tis a town so ugly the county of Staffordshire
Resounded with gay cheers when its boundaries
Were changed and dear Walsall mercifully detached.
Yet I have a quixotically happy memory
Of this undistinguished and sorely blighted place
As I shall now tell to you, my dearest readers.
Having unwisely partaken of a Balti
From a dour and grim Bangladeshi restaurant
Where the rules of hygiene were boldly disregarded,
I was taken short along the old Lichfield Road
And rushed into the justly famed Arboretum
Seeking a friendly oak or willow behind which
To pump out the contents of my quiv'ring bowels.
After I had done the business and cleansed myself
As best I could with assorted leaves and fronds,
I heard a whining voice from behind a little bush,
(all bedecked with red-glowing lights and lanterns,
to celebrate some oriental festival),
Offering me a "railleey noice" blowjob in return
For the paltry price of a pint of Highgate Mild.
O! how could any man refuse such a bargain?
(I would have paid much more to prevent hearing
another vowel being mangled in Midlands-speak)
And toothless ladies of the night have always had
A certain appeal, as un-fanged gums usually mean
A lowered risk of penile damage, don't you know?
None the less, I shall ne'er return to this sad town
And will cross it right off my touring map forthwith,
Even though I left my best underpants behind.
Barry's notes to his readers:
Walsall is a borough within the West Midlands conurbation in between Wolverhampton and Birmingham; it was formerly part of the County of Staffordshire. It is a socially deprived area, largely comprising local authority housing of a poor standard. Many of the houses are built of rather unappealing red bricks. There are significant ethnic minorities in Walsall and considerable poverty. A local speciality is "balti", a particularly horrid curry served in a big bowl (which is itself called a balti)- balti dishes are unknown in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, having been invented to allow cheap c**ts of meat to be passed off to the local white population in the West Midlands, as the bowl means you can shove in any old crap and the hot sauce disguises it. Mercifully, balti dishes are not often encountered outside the Midlands.
People always tend to raise their puzzled eyebrows
When they hear to dreaded name of Walsall uttered:
"Where is it? What is it? Who cares a make love roughly?" they cry.
Whilst those of us who have been so unfortunate
To have visited this misbegotten borough,
Suburb of a suburb of boring Birmingham,
Shake their heads in sorrow at its horrid mention.
Which other town of well-nigh a quarter million
Poor and oppressed provincial proletarian souls
Can boast such a startling paucity of culture,
Such a wasteland of futile human endeavour?
Which other urban sprawl can compare in squalor
With this conglomeration of redbrick drabness?
'Tis a town so ugly the county of Staffordshire
Resounded with gay cheers when its boundaries
Were changed and dear Walsall mercifully detached.
Yet I have a quixotically happy memory
Of this undistinguished and sorely blighted place
As I shall now tell to you, my dearest readers.
Having unwisely partaken of a Balti
From a dour and grim Bangladeshi restaurant
Where the rules of hygiene were boldly disregarded,
I was taken short along the old Lichfield Road
And rushed into the justly famed Arboretum
Seeking a friendly oak or willow behind which
To pump out the contents of my quiv'ring bowels.
After I had done the business and cleansed myself
As best I could with assorted leaves and fronds,
I heard a whining voice from behind a little bush,
(all bedecked with red-glowing lights and lanterns,
to celebrate some oriental festival),
Offering me a "railleey noice" blowjob in return
For the paltry price of a pint of Highgate Mild.
O! how could any man refuse such a bargain?
(I would have paid much more to prevent hearing
another vowel being mangled in Midlands-speak)
And toothless ladies of the night have always had
A certain appeal, as un-fanged gums usually mean
A lowered risk of penile damage, don't you know?
None the less, I shall ne'er return to this sad town
And will cross it right off my touring map forthwith,
Even though I left my best underpants behind.
Barry's notes to his readers:
Walsall is a borough within the West Midlands conurbation in between Wolverhampton and Birmingham; it was formerly part of the County of Staffordshire. It is a socially deprived area, largely comprising local authority housing of a poor standard. Many of the houses are built of rather unappealing red bricks. There are significant ethnic minorities in Walsall and considerable poverty. A local speciality is "balti", a particularly horrid curry served in a big bowl (which is itself called a balti)- balti dishes are unknown in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh, having been invented to allow cheap c**ts of meat to be passed off to the local white population in the West Midlands, as the bowl means you can shove in any old crap and the hot sauce disguises it. Mercifully, balti dishes are not often encountered outside the Midlands.
