Sunday, January 06, 2008

'Life' In The Whore Of Europe


Ye olde picturesque streetey. Where stone walls boast their indifference to passers by and progress stopped with the installation of brick chimneys in Victorian days. Whoo-hoo.

Dorchester Castle is a Victorian fake which used to guard the entrance to the barracks of Dorchester Garrison. Today the buildings are for the council offices. The soldiers of the garrison used to defend the strategic South Coast areas from the threat of invading French or Germans; today the local government ants occupying the barracks do the invaders wishes and we all have to conform.

Ever imaginative, the locals get into their cars on a Sunday and drive about a bit. There must be some reason for it, but I don't know what that is. Note 'ye olde' surveillance camera standing in the middle of the roundabout.


An old church where you can imagine you are Tess Of The D'Ubervilles. If you like that sort of thing.

This used to be the best pub in town. They used to do the best thing in Dorchester, namely a sublime Ploughman's Lunch. They weren't doing it today; they are under new management.
The last time I did actually manage to get a meal, it was also under new management, and it wasn't nearly as good.
For the sake of a few pennies, they have destroyed the business.
But hey, this is Englitz!


The beer is still quite good. But I don't drive 10 miles for beer. I can get good beer almost anywhere. They were doing roast dinners today. I didn't want a roast dinner. England. Where the people dream that one day they will be able to say 'no' to someone, the misers paradise where denial of the goods is the business.
The alternative was this pub, which makes a big deal about being for 'humans'.
The staff weren't.
They were also selling roast dinners, for two pounds more, and they don't brew their own beer.
So I walked out after some casual rudeness from the owner.
I eventually found an abuse-free pub on the High Street, where I had a coca cola and sat.
They had no food at all. Apparently, in England, if you don't eat crow, you don't eat.
Some people believe that England has changed beyond all recognition. If it has, it has only been the demise of the few, friendly, quality service people that actually understood what made good business, and their replacement by ruptured little snobs trying to screw every buck they can because they hate their work and everybody else and simply want to retire to some ideal of uselessness and depravity as soon as they possibly can and to hell with the people that pay for it.
Fuck this for a game of cards.
I'm going to emigrate somewhere just as soon as I possibly can.

2 comments:

The Dude said...

That must have been a bloody great ploughmans !!

Pietr said...

It was beyond belief!