Playing by Faversham rules

Date: 24 July 2007 18:56:55

There are certain rules by which English small towns are ordered. Some shared between them, others unique to particular towns - such as Faversham in Kent. Thanks to my stupendous powers of observation I can now share these with you, so you will never again be dazed and confused in Faversham. Over the weekend I spent all of twenty hours in in the town. During most of them I was either drinking or asleep or both. But so strong are my natural abilities in this line I can assure you I have got the placed pinned down already! The Rules are arranged in suras of decreasing order of length.

The prosperity of a small town can be judged by the ratio of shops selling silly toys or expensive antiques or second-hand books or organic food (on the top of the fraction) to charity shops, junks shops and cheap antique shops (on the bottom of it). By that rule Corbridge is better-off than Faversham which is better-off than Lewes which is better-off than Woodbridge which is better-off than Chichester which is better-off than Huntingdon. (Note the failure of the North-South Divide in Small Town Land - this is partly because southern small towns have a quota of poor people who can't afford to live in the city, and northern small towns have rich people who can afford not to)
No-one of European appearance is allowed to work in a shop that sells food after 6pm. Walking down into Faversham on Saturday evening I passed maybe six takeaways and three restaurants, all staffed by Asians, but only one Asian-looking person in the street (a little boy riding a chopper bike down a twitten) But all the pubs, which are many, seemed to be run entirely by white people.
Every small town has at least one pub with bare wooden floorboards populated by women in their twenties or thirties with piercings in uncomfortable looking places who drink cider and snakebite and put rock music recorded before they were born onto the juke box. In Faversham it seems to be called the Swan.
Most locals never walk anywhere except to the pub. They all drive. So if you ask directions to anywhere and they tell you it is a long way away don't believe them. They only ever go by car and have no idea how long it really takes to walk. London is the last stronghold of human-powered mobility in the country.
All women are beautiful. Even the fat fourteen-year-olds sitting in the street between the Hole in the Wall and Wetherspoon's, too pissed to get up, drooling into their bottles of cheap vodka and giggling at their slighly older mates pathetic attempts to chat up the bouncers.
No-one can do simple artithmetic. The otherwise very wonderful
Shepherd Neame shop webpage is advertising a case of 24 cans of Spitfire for £22 - and four cases for £110. That's about 14p a can more expensive.
All women aged between 16 and 60 are married with children. But that doesn't stop them cuddling random blokes they just met. Even when their husbands are in the next room.
If you go to the pub over the road from the station for one last pint before you return to London, you will miss your train. (Also known as the "Lansdowne Arms Rule")
Somewhere there is a pub full of people who look like they used to drink in bars in Brighton twenty-five years ago. If you talk to them it usually turns out that they did.
There is a creek or a river. It usually doesn't have enough water in it to float more than a rubber duck. This is why the small town is still a small town and not a big city.
The older and narrower the roads, the nice the town. If there is anywhere called a "by-pass" you can be sure it is deadly.
Sleeping outside on a bare wooden floor is often more comfortable than inside on a mattress. Until it rains.
Middle-aged men who have been in the pub since lunchtime do not need to drink Margaritas after midnight.
Ten-year old girls who play pool in pubs and know the words to Iron Maiden songs actually exist.
Lax enforcement of the smoking ban is not confined to South London.
Spitfire actually does taste better than Master Brew.
It was a really great party, thanks Mark and Stella!
Fish and chips is usually nicer outside London
Breweries are larger behind than in front.
Acts of Morris Dancing are perpetrated
They no longer have cattle markets
They still have Co-ops.