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Bristol UK

Kinky Londoners moving North just to be mistreated by the Government

Naughty Nellies!

The mist cleared as Lydia Delila alighted from the 23:35 at Manchester Piccadilly station.

Alone, but with the arrogance of a whole group of friends, she waded through the station, rummaging urgently through her baguette bag. Ah yes, all the important stuff was there: phone, wallet, signet necklace, everything a simple Southern girl could need before venturing into the scary, but let’s face it, sexy unknown.

“Hiya, you alright?”, a booming voice crashed across the entrance. She gasped. A weathered face in a hi-vis jacket turned towards her…

“It’s getting late, can I order you a taxi? The buses are just out by Fairfield street”

A wave of pleasure shot through her in an instant. This was it, this was what she suffered a 3 hour delay and an overpriced Upper Crust sandwich for; receiving a bollocking from the local bobby reminded her that she was here for one thing and one thing only. This was her moment:

“Ya no, ya it’s okay I’ve actually got a prepaid Addison Le- I mean car booked to go my Air BNB so no totally no worries not at all. Love your accent by the way, so niche!”

Ian Davis raised his eyebrows instinctively, though not remotely taken aback by this afront; drones of young Londonites had been filing in all week, making playful oyster gestures at the barriers, defiantly misunderstanding all local accents and talking in a peculiar dialect of exaggerated consonants followed by a series of ahs.

They seem to have come out of some kind of boredom, some silver-plated ennui from being coddled by both home and council; desperate so they were for change, they had come to be belittled, patronised and ignored by a governing authority, and, Davis supposed, they had come to the right place.

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