Dear sir andrew,
I have an urgent quest to abolish all townies from Lytham, St Annes, and Blackpool, for today was really the killer that has set me off insulting every damn one of them I can find.
Tonight, on my quest to find chocolate so late at night, I was confronted by some townies. One of them shouted in a particularly townie-ish accent "Oi, your trainers are sh1t mate, I had those last year".
Mistake no. 1: I am not, never have been, and never (if my plans go accordingly) will be "your mate".
Mistake no. 2: I don't care. I wear them on the least useful part of myself, i don't care.
Mistake no. 3: The very fact that you're giving fashion tips when you yourself are wearing a "tracksuit", with no intention whatsoever of the attendance of a sporting event, is an insult to me.
Err, townies, err, I shouted, but they began to chase me.
Thankful as i now am for cider, as the townies were tanked up on the very devil drink itself, and were unable to pursue me very far.
Their logic for doing such ridiculous things is beaten perhaps only by the french, as they too have an outrageous accent and bad dress sense, and they also eat things they find in the garden, ie. snails and frogs.
Soe, sire andrewe, wille ye joine the crusade againste the townies, ande hopefullye we shalle conquere the whole lande of Englande, proclaiminge "err, townies, err", and being chased. but hopefully not too much of the latter.
Just remember to shout the magic words whernever you see the very downfall of modern society, and ye shall be rewarded by a warm, glowing, warming glow. of radioactive turnips and cheese, argh........
Sir James of Olde Englande