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The lovely people of St.Austell

A nasty virus has descended upon Smith mansions, leaving the husband weakened and the wife sore of throat and unfeasibly frozen. We popped into our nearest town St.Awful, oops, I mean St.Austell to attend to various automobilical issues and to try to bring closure to the overrated pastime that is Christmas shopping. How we got through the day I cannot be sure. Trudging from one grey shop to the next in sub zero temperatures whilst we waited for the chariot to be made ready was more than mildly unpleasant. Thank goodness for the great British pub. A roaring wood burner and copious tea and coffee, thawed out the weary bloggers. Three cheers for the Western Inn !!! Yet I digress. Today I want to banter with you a while. A playful few minutes throwing around textures and tastes, highlighting the glories that make up St. Austell - Cornwall's very own Florence.
St. Austell is another British "any town". Chain store shops, charity shops and pubs serving mostly  beers from the County's major brewer. Back in the '60's, town planners, who will hereafter be called *SCUM* passed legislation that allowed for a row of medieval houses to be levelled. Two years ago, SCUM decided that the lovely (yes a bit tired, but nonetheless serviceable Art Deco cinema designed by Sir Wolstenholme Tyght-Crotche or somebody) had to go in favour of a multiplex with a 20 year predicted life. So, now we have the cinema who's seating arrangement is so steep that during the grand opening ceremony celebrity mountain guide Sherpa Tensing Norgay fainted upon looking at the incline.What were they thinking? The cinema complex is roughly within the beautiful and original looking environs of our new Mall, the romantically named "White River". For White River read "Trickle with a shopping trolley in it".
We had much fun warming ourselves earlier in the day, drinking coffee and hot choc in a faceless branded coffee shop and gaining much amusement from watching the downtrodden shoppers traipse around the soulless concrete maze, depression and bitter resignation etched into their faces. The season of goodwill manifest. Inside the coffee shop was much the same, but the highlight came in the form of a mum seated nearby and her ineffective attempts to reason and control her  hyperactive two year old son. Avery was his name. Yes Avery. Unbelievable. What kind of name is that? Poor lad. Anyway, little Aviary or Apiary wouldn't keep still bless him, ignoring his Mum's pleas & threats.No wonder the little cherub was in a frenzy - he was ripped to the tits on a junk blackberry drink and a bright yellow cup cake. When he wasn't under customers' feet, he was meeting me with a vacant thousand yard stare that said to me in 20 years Avery will most likely abduct people and eat them. And work part-time in the town planning office. Can't wait.
Well, off to bed now after a pleasant few hours by the fire trying to bring our bodies out of cryogenic freeze.
Bye for now,
Simon.

http://www.whiteriverdevelopments.co.uk/
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