See the title? How prophetic the Beatles almost were. Darwen (neighbour to Blackburn) used to be a beautiful little English town. Cobbled roads, magnificent architecture and trams galore (this is judging by a book of 'Old Darwen' I have, which features my GreatGrandadJimmy as a brass-band member).
Now? Concrete monstrosities giving all 'Darreners' conjunctivitis, utterly unnecessary 4x4's parked down the narrowest of streets and potholes, potholes, potholes. I've had bills for repaired/new tyres stretching into the hundreds (£300+) which is NOT cool. My student loan only covers me so far and these ridiculous roads are literally drinking my money without pissing it back out.
On the bright side (well, not really), I'm saving money this Christmas. No girlfriend = no £50 on prezzies, no ridiculous parking fees for restaurants in Manchester and no wasted money on condoms (I'm not pulling much either, as you saw in my post re: women). One Durex extra-safe remains in my wallet, after that packet of 12 was bought for £5 in June. Poor thing remains intact, feeling sullen, unused and therefore undervalued and unwanted. How can women be so cruel to one of the greatest inventions of the last century? Anyway, back to Darwen....
Here is the most frightening transformation:
Darwen Leisure Centre:
Only 10 years ago, the black and white picture remained true. A stunning building in my opinion. I have not yet entered the modernised (bastardised) version and nor do I intend to. It is an utter eyesore and pretty much sums up how unnecessary changes make me feel. I know that Darwen is a shithole. If Blackburn is the arsehole of England, then Darwen is the 'piles' which plague that arse with unforgiving awkwardness. But it's MY shithole, MY hometown and I will always love the place.
The IndiaMillChimney remains, standing proud as a symbol of Darwen's prominence during the Industrial Revolution:
As does our magnificent Darwen Tower. It remains upon the moors, keeping watch on our little town:
Now, if only the council would dig up that pathetically weak, tyre-terrorising tarmac and give us back our cobbles (they can't be any worse)! I'll leave yer be now. Gun' go stick me flat cap on, wit' me elbow-patched jacket, me wee smokin' pipe and go fetch a pie-er-two fer me lunch, 'fore seeing how't whippet be getting on down the dogs! Ta'raa chuck!