I sit today in Carlton Lanes (that's Cas's shopping mall)

A town where Thatcher took its mines and Time has took its toll,

And watch the local residents sipping at their teas

At tables in the cafes, but not in twos or threes;

But rather sat in huggins of 8 or 10 or more;

Some might leave and others join - It's hard to keep the score.

 

But even those who shamble past are greeted cheerily,

“How's your Edwin's waterworks and Elsie's gammy knee?”

Or “What a loada cloglumps” (This is rugby talk)

“Never mind the Wigan game – but lost to bloody York!”

 

Then tattooed Molly waddles by, herding 7 kids

Some are Wayne's and some are Brad's and Chardonnay is Sid's.

“Take yer weight off” one bloke calls “And stop for tea “ he adds

“Not today, thanks, Uncle Fred,” They're off to meet their dads”.

 

And so the craic continues; the pattern's all the same;

They all know one another and know each other's name.

And then the reason dawned on me (I'm slow, let it be said)

In Cas they're so familiar cos everyone's in-bred.