Day of the Living Dead
Wandered down into the village of Faversham, with its many tiny buildings from the 1500s. A terrifying number of oldsters zombie-shuffled about on the newly-cobbled tourist-streets with walking sticks or in their one-man electric wheely-bins. Several jug-jawed chav girls loitered in front of an off-licence. A old man dressed from head to toe in camouflage gear stood in front of another shop doorway and yelled, "Durr! Durr! Durr! Durr!" A fifty-year-old busker stood on a pavement torturing 'Up The Junction', by Squeeze.
I decided to have some lunch, so on hands and knees I crawled into a Tudor doll's house with four foot high ceilings and sat at a tiny table under the plate glass window so I could have a ring-side view of the passing humanity outside. As I waited for my meal an old coot shuffled in and up to the counter.
"Oi'd loik a lubbly cuppa tea, madam", he said, all the while alternating rapidly from one foot to the other as if he desperately needed the toilet. Two beautiful, thuggish Eastern Euro hunks walked up the street, in string vests and raven hair slicked severely back with plastic Alice bands. From another table, the querulous voice of an old woman drifted over.
"Of course, I had the advantage of spending most of my eighty-four years right here in Faversham, man and boy... Well, boy and lady, actually."
My meal finished I headed off down another street, where another busker, also with guitar, was making a noise that can only be described as a droning growl and which resembled no song on earth. His alms bowl was, I was pleased to notice, completely empty.
I decided to have some lunch, so on hands and knees I crawled into a Tudor doll's house with four foot high ceilings and sat at a tiny table under the plate glass window so I could have a ring-side view of the passing humanity outside. As I waited for my meal an old coot shuffled in and up to the counter.
"Oi'd loik a lubbly cuppa tea, madam", he said, all the while alternating rapidly from one foot to the other as if he desperately needed the toilet. Two beautiful, thuggish Eastern Euro hunks walked up the street, in string vests and raven hair slicked severely back with plastic Alice bands. From another table, the querulous voice of an old woman drifted over.
"Of course, I had the advantage of spending most of my eighty-four years right here in Faversham, man and boy... Well, boy and lady, actually."
My meal finished I headed off down another street, where another busker, also with guitar, was making a noise that can only be described as a droning growl and which resembled no song on earth. His alms bowl was, I was pleased to notice, completely empty.
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