Driving into the town centre I made a hurried survey of all the boarded up shops, feral children smoking, pregnant horrors pushing buggies sometimes followed by a neanderthal youth wearing tracksuit bottoms tucked into his socks. Do I make a hasty exit or carry on? My upper lip is as stiff as the next British person's and so we carried on. We parked in Freshney's car park which is a busy shopping centre/market where you can find many fashionable items at discount prices, such as Ug boots for £9.99. Feeling a bit peckish we found a nice little cafe, I ordered the connoisseur's choice, a jacket potato with cheese. "Not after 2 o'clock" said the pig faced waitress wiping her nose along the back of her finger and then wiped her finger on her burgundy tabbard. Which left me wondering if a law had been passed. Was there now a curfew on jacket potatoes? "We'll go elsewhere" I replied. If looks could kill, I would have been dead. "You'ves left it too late ant yers?" she spat. "I'm sorry dear, I don't speak Mongolian". My top lip started to twitch. Quick, get me out of this shithole!