- “Jamie Wallis, the MP for Bridgend in Wales said he was “assisting police with their enquiries” following the collision on November 28, when a car hit a lamppost.”
It sounds like Whitty and Vallance are absolutely the drivers for more lockdown from that Telegraph report
IF - and this is a huge IF - it turns out their advice is ignored, and the nation survives, and there aren’t “6,000 deaths a day” or whatever bollox they are predicting, then they must be driven from public life, and forced to live in Wick, in Scotland.
There must be a price to pay for being SOOOOOO wrong. Seriously. If the boffins want to run the place, they must accept there is a cost to being a fucking idiot and getting it all wrong
That is: IF they are wrong
What is wrong with Wick
We have family there
Clearly you haven’t been?
ON OUR WICK ‘We escaped Taliban but hated life in depressing Wick – please don’t send us back to Scotland’, say Afghan refugees Graham Mann 9:00, 9 Dec 2021Updated: 9:41, 9 Dec 2021
AN Afghan refugee who revealed he’d rather risk being beheaded by the Taliban than stay any longer in Wick, Scotland, has fled to London, we can reveal.
Nothing wrong with Wick in that piece other than a lack of Afghani speakers. Which is unsurprising.
Mate, I’ve been to Wick. I went this “summer”, when it was perpetually overcast like a kind of Satanic torture.
Now, I love lots of Scotland, and I can even tolerate the climate, for a while. I am glad this beautiful land is part of Britain
But, Jesus, Wick. Don’t be an eejit. It is horrific. And the buildings are so incredibly ugly and dark. Wick, like other towns in Scotland, is one of the most depressing corners of this green earth. Right up there with the worst parts of the ex Soviet Union, or northern Peru, or Romania in winter. Hideous
I actually find London depressingly grimy and grey! I don't like being there on my own and only really feel comfortable when escorted by my friend (ironically enough he lives not far from you). And as for Wick, chacun a son gout, but I adore the local Old Red Sandstone, and the Pulteneytown fisherfolk quarter is a minor truimph of urban planning:
London is Sui generis. In the right mood and the right light - usually spring or summer, but also misty autumn and Christmas - it can be literally the most exhilarating place on earth. Nowhere else has the unique combination of enormous history - 2000 years of it - plus absolute modernity, plus elegant and fascinating architecture and history from all stages between
Stand downstream of Tower Bridge and look west and you will see Roman Walls, the Norman Tower of London, Wren steeples, Victorian marvels (Tower Bridge itself) and startling skyscrapers - the Shard, the Gherkin
What other city does that? Nowhere, that’s where. Not even Paris
PLUS London has that incredible variety of urban villages, from Greenwich to Camden to Brixton to Highgate to Borough to Mayfair to Notting Hill to Chelsea to Wapping to Shoreditch to Soho to Hempstead to Primrose Hill to Deptford to Canary Wharf to the City to to to to to
It is an extreme place. When it is desolate it can be extremely desolate. But, my word, what a city
Wick, it is not
Glad to see Sean is wisely investing his tipsy hours, comparing London with Wick. What next? The shocking exposé that Berlin differs from Gstaad? The man is an insightful genius.
- “Jamie Wallis, the MP for Bridgend in Wales said he was “assisting police with their enquiries” following the collision on November 28, when a car hit a lamppost.”
Sorry I missed the important debate on Wick. I've walked through it once, and it was a bit meh. Some of those Scottish fishing villages and towns have spectacular settings, but the buildings are mainly built from the same stone, or with the same rendering. It makes them all look a little samey. Perhaps this is because these places usually expanded rapidly in spurts, and access to (say) different building stone was limited.
It's a bit like a coastal Bar Hill (shudders). Actually, give me Wick over Bar Hill any day ...
But Leon has a point, sadly. Robert Louis Stevenson's view of the town: "Certainly Wick in itself possesses no beauty: bare, grey shores, grim grey houses, grim grey sea; not even the gleam of red tiles; not even the greenness of a tree. The southerly heights, when I came here, were black with people, fishers waiting on wind and night. Now all the S.Y.S. (Stornoway boats) have beaten out of the bay, and the Wick men stay indoors or wrangle on the quays with dissatisfied fish-curers, knee-high in brine, mud, and herring refuse. The day when the boats put out to go home to the Hebrides, the girl here told me there was 'a black wind'; and on going out, I found the epithet as justifiable as it was picturesque. A cold, BLACK southerly wind, with occasional rising showers of rain; it was a fine sight to see the boats beat out a-teeth of it.
In Wick I have never heard any one greet his neighbour with the usual 'Fine day' or 'Good morning.' Both come shaking their heads, and both say, 'Breezy, breezy!’ And such is the atrocious quality of the climate, that the remark is almost invariably justified by the fact. The streets are full of the Highland fishers, lubberly, stupid, inconceivably lazy and heavy to move. You bruise against them, tumble over them, elbow them against the wall – all to no purpose; they will not budge; and you are forced to leave the pavement every step.
To the south, however, is as fine a piece of coast scenery as I ever saw. "
Comments
http://ukpollingreport.co.uk/
Peter Hitchens"
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=25yVJNVRJWA
It's a bit like a coastal Bar Hill (shudders). Actually, give me Wick over Bar Hill any day ...
But Leon has a point, sadly. Robert Louis Stevenson's view of the town:
"Certainly Wick in itself possesses no beauty: bare, grey shores, grim grey houses, grim grey sea; not even the gleam of red tiles; not even the greenness of a tree. The southerly heights, when I came here, were black with people, fishers waiting on wind and night. Now all the S.Y.S. (Stornoway boats) have beaten out of the bay, and the Wick men stay indoors or wrangle on the quays with dissatisfied fish-curers, knee-high in brine, mud, and herring refuse. The day when the boats put out to go home to the Hebrides, the girl here told me there was 'a black wind'; and on going out, I found the epithet as justifiable as it was picturesque. A cold, BLACK southerly wind, with occasional rising showers of rain; it was a fine sight to see the boats beat out a-teeth of it.
In Wick I have never heard any one greet his neighbour with the usual 'Fine day' or 'Good morning.' Both come shaking their heads, and both say, 'Breezy, breezy!’ And such is the atrocious quality of the climate, that the remark is almost invariably justified by the fact. The streets are full of the Highland fishers, lubberly, stupid, inconceivably lazy and heavy to move. You bruise against them, tumble over them, elbow them against the wall – all to no purpose; they will not budge; and you are forced to leave the pavement every step.
To the south, however, is as fine a piece of coast scenery as I ever saw. "
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wick,_Caithness#Historic_descriptions_of_Wick