Ahh… Beverley. The quaint little Market Town nestled in the rolling hills—– I mean, abnormally flat, not-quite-so-rolling planes of East Yorkshire’s commericial farm fields (“Mekkin’ tatties fer Tesco!”) Not much to look at… yes, but still the locals spout it be the Gem of the North East. But let us not forget these locals of this wonderful little town – in fact – the whole slice of East Riding regard themselves to be completely seperate to the rest of Yorkshire so much, that it could even be its own Country! Anyone north, south, or west of Hull are practically foreign. Oh yes. The good, humble people of this little corner of the universe are passionately patriotic, and don’t like to travel anywhere that isn’t of their own land. Doing so would encourage terrorists, illegal immigrants, and the chance of mating OUTSIDE of their own family. Terrible.

Lets get to the nitty gritty. Beverley is a dressed up shit-hole. Ignore some of the pretty looking, historic buildings (most Beverley-heads do – unless said building gets converted into yet another big name chain-store) ignore the ancient Minister (most Beverley-heads do anyway) and ignore the scattered designer boutiques. All of this haughtiness has only pulled the wool over every outsider’s eyes – making the town look like a respectable, well-moneyed, and ‘Posh’ town. It isn’t. Behind every fur coat is an old tart with no knickers.

Beverley – even to its own occupants – is a shadow of their glorious, awe-inspiring Hull.

HULL! Re-knowned as the BIGGEST shit-hole in Britain – and thankfully this was officially aired across every television in the country in Britains Worst Places To Live. The WHOLE COUNTRY knows what a complete Cess-pit Hull is – EXCEPT Beverley. Yes… you see, Beverley deems itself to be part of Hull. Or wishes it was. If you happen to hear a Beverley-head mutter: “I’m off in te’ town!” – it means HULL town centre. NOT Beverley’s own town centre. This also, fascinatingly, is the same case as regards night life. In fact – Beverley is in such denial that it is a suburb of Hull – that it has even started to look as similar to Hull as it possibly can! Gone are the days of unique, independant shops… in with the big-dick chain-stores, making it look more like Hull, and more like any other clone-like town in the rest of the UK. Shopping is serious business in Beverley now, as it is in Hull – because if you aren’t “Graftin’ or shoppin’, like!” then there is f**k all else to do, apparently. Or, maybe get pregnant.

There is no room for creativity in Beverley. It simply isn’t welcomed, and is looked at as completely alien. There is no Theatre, or Cinema (only in their beloved Hull!) nor does it have an Art-centre of sorts – like most respectable towns have nowadays (and Beverley deems itself to be one of those.) If you are brave enough to engage in a conversation about anything creative whatsoever – brace youself for a long, confused silence… apart from the sound of chip-bag paper rolling past. It simply isn’t a grounded way to live, and it is all make-believe anyway. If you are to survive in life you have to be “Graftin’ and workin’ a real job!” – anything that isn’t 9 to 5 will make a Beverley-head stunned, confused, and potentialy aggressive. If you find yourself in this situation – just randomly shout “I hate black people!” and you’ll be met with an accepting smile (nearly).

Beverley, as mentioned, is a patrotic little jewel. While the rest of the UK, and most of the world look at the current war in Iraq as being an absolutely f**king awful idea –  Beverley doesn’t.  They ship off their sons at 16 to join the Territorial Army (“Our Jez is int’ Armeh! Proper job, proud o’ ‘im!“) – and celebrate the war with their ‘Heroes Welcome in Beverley’ scheme: where shops give discounts to the Squaddies that start fights in the Green Dragon every weekend, and who were the drop-outs and thugs of its local schools naught but a few years ago. But that’s not all, oh no. Watch the Beverley-heads turn up in their masses to cheer at these marching Leconfield Squaddies during the annual “WE SUPPORT THE WAR – IT WA’ A MINT IDEA TEH’ GO OUT THERE AN’ SHOOT THE ‘BROWN’ PEOPLE!” – otherwise known as: “Salute The Troops Day” …

Beverely also has a wonderful local paper – the ‘Beverley Advertiser’ – where it does just that – advertise. Page after page of adverts, it’s a journalism beauty. Between such pages of adverts are some actual articles – be it about the tradgedy of Betty’s tomato plant stolen from her allotment, or a plump, chav-faced, mousey-haired, no-way-in-hell-could-ever-make-it-as-a-Model (cat) fighting it out in Miss Hull  (Beverley is Hull, remember?) These being the best of the town’s ’Beauties’ it can offer…oh dear. Then of course, when it comes to any worthwhile report – such as a shameful crime that has taken place in the town: race-crime for example, it gets a tiny paragraph in the bottom right corner, next to the Second-hand-swap-shop section. This very weekend in fact – it was timidly reported that twenty five Beverley-head teenagers beat up a french TOURIST because of the ‘colour of his skin’ – and lots of other, adult Beverley-heads walked right past and did nothing (“Go ‘ann my son!”) That’s right. Beverley people beat up Tourists who come to admire their town. Bizzarre isn’t it? Unheard of anywhere else… but certainly not in good ol’ Beverley! Told you they don’t like ‘outsiders’ – didn’t I?

It isn’t a suprise that these little conveniantly hidden articles come out in the open some how. Take a walk down Toll Gavel on any weekday, it’s not a suprise to hear local old biddies discuss their racist opinions out in the open! Note the fact that most Beverley-heads all look the same, too: as well as the comman features, they have the same webbed fingers and feet… all results from inbred breeding. Beating up tourists because they look ‘foreign looking’ isn’t so shocking after all – when the towns-folk of Beverley are all related to each other. Just as stated above… Beverley-heads stick to their own, literally. If you are from north, south or west of this pinnacle of open-mindedness – Beverley – then you will be looked upon with a suspicious, queer eye. A witch-hunt with lighted torches and pitch-forks will be swiftly on to you! And if you decide to eat anything but carrots and cabbages, then you are a ‘Arab-shagger‘. Steer clear! Get out of their lovely PRO white PRO war Planet East Yorkshire – you red-headed, brown-headed demon!