Not a sound to be heard; not a soul to be seen; there's only one place; Altrincham
No decent meal to be had; no hearty drink to be found; there's only one place: Altrincham
Not a joke to be told; no tale to be wove; there's only one place: Altrincham
Altrincham: The dullest place on Earth. As a sage once said to me, "there is more life on a remote Scottish island than there is life in Altrincham." It's a place where cockroaches are so bored it actually kills them. Not even a nuclear missile can achieve that. Yet, it comes to my attention, like perpetual bad tides, like clouds of locusts, like plagues of rats, that people, if we must call them anything, love Altrincham. There is no manner in which one can begin to calculate the workings of their stupidity.
About ten years ago I found myself in Altrincham on a winter's evening. It was a clear night but there was no moon and the street on which I had found myself was badly lit, as if we'd returned to distant times and the gas man had forgotten his duties. To my horror (and I can account for the exaggeration of my emotions) I heard, slightly at first but then with growing menace, the sound of feet, walking with a steady yet determined pace upon the cobbles behind me. When I turned to look, I could see no one. Shivers traversed my body; goose pimples, as if trying to escape the shackles of my skin, burst forth over me, reaching for the heavens. I carried on with quicker pace but I heard no more. This, ladies and gentlemen, is the only time I have been in Altrincham and experienced something more than a dull stupor.
Why this animosity towards Altrincham? Why today, of all days, do I reveal my distaste to the world? Well, I was schooled here; I spent many days of my youth sitting on benches and drinking beer here; but the main reason, the reason that holds my hatred before the public and says, "World, observe the trauma this town has wrought upon my soul!" is this unquestionably ridiculous fact: it is home to the restaurant Francs.