The bleakly beautiful Brecon Beacons sweep majestically south, and come to a jarring, splattering halt in Merthyr Tydfil.
Once an industrial powerhouse, and a hotbed of radical politics – it is now filled with parochial, overweight troglodytes who will tell you that “Merthyr is as good as any place I’ve been to” – as they gorge on the three key food groups – beer, chips and 20 Bensons.
Sprawling housing estates, high unemployment, alcohol abuse and rampant stupidity suck the life out of people – till they resemble Morlocks, only with bluer skin, and fewer aspirations.
Park up a few tanks, and it could be East Germany. I grew up in Merthyr, and I still have a large bag of chips on my shoulder. Moved at 18, bags packed at 16.
Anonymous (If I give you my name, I will be villified in the local paper and later glassed in a pub. No, seriously, I will).