The Idler

Yatton

04 August 2005

Yatton is near Bristol, off the A370 on the way to Weston-Super-Mare (which is itself bound to feature on the crapmap sooner or later).

In Yatton, the bones of children do not grow properly. A typical teenager will appear to have rickets and something odd about the skull. Often the dome of the head will appear to be missing completely, and the jaw is extended toward the ground. I am no scientist, but there must be something lacking in their diets – perhaps food.

In Yatton, the elderly are like dirty, damaged vultures. They converge at awful jumble sales. They rummage and fight for socks and underpants that have been torn from the stiff corpses of their previous ancient occupiers.

The newly-clad wizeners parade, in purple Sta-Prest flares and grimy beige duffel coats, worn with ancient carpet slippers, toothless to Somerfield to buy Tizer and Superkings. If they speak to each other, nobody knows what they say.

In Yatton, I have seen a woman die in the doctor’s surgery.

In Yatton it is always cold and dark.

Ben Woodcock

YATTON’S HAIRDRESSERS ATTACKED!

‘Manukenkun’ writes:

I used to have my hair cut there as a child. They refused to dye it black as they said it wasn’t natural, this is from people who willing dye old ladies hair blue…