Exciting news, isn’t it? Enough to cause me to skip merrily through the daisies in my garden as naked as a cherub, and sing its praises from every rooftop from here to Wellington Drive.…
“Oh hear ye, oh hear ye, Devizes hath been blessed! Devizes, oh, Devizes, magically upgraded from a one to a two-Greggs town!” fairies chant over a maid tinkering on a harpsichord, sprinkling their fairy dust in jubilation. Won’t someone sign me into my Facebook account so I can spread word of it pronto: twelve “likes” and counting, three are love heart emojis, yay! I blush at my popularity and bite into my steak bake milliseconds before it gets cold.
Yesh, brothers, sisters, true as I sit here typing this crap, another Greggs bakery chainstore has majestically opened in Devizes like the second coming of a prophet, making us a two-Greggs town now, and you know what that means….
You do know what that means, don’t you? No, neither do I, really. They have pasties with peas in them; peas have no home in a pasty, that’s too much of a trigger. Job opportunities, perhaps, and that’s good, right? The notion that one quick swerve from the congested fury on London Road, and you can be refreshed with a lukewarm cuppa and a salty dog-meat sausage roll as traffic builds up behind you. You need no longer to stop off in the Market Place and realise there are better quality local produces available, and that has to be the winner winner chicken baguette dinner, hands down. At least it beats knowing you’re funding a convicted nonce, eh?
Otherwise, I see no valid reason to jump for joy. Swindon has thirteen Greggs, Chippenham has four; do you see them wetting their knickers when another opens? We don’t even beat electronic talking Christmas tree’d Melksham, dammit, they’ve got three… and don’t get me started on the Golden Arches. Unfair, Devizes Town Council, just because no one has actually ever applied to open a Maccy-D’s here, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pull your bloody fingers out and kidnap Ronald McDonald until he starts supplying his celebrated Fillet-0-Fishes and McNuggets here. Damn your eyes, sirs, and look around at the desperate and needy fast food generation, see their tiny tears welling!
Stop catering to a yesteryear generation, eating on plates is soooo last millennium; we’ve surpassed Wimpy and demand our pointless packaging.
For what is a town without the splattering of unwanted pickles on its pavements? What is the measure of a place where rat-enticing decomposing chicken bones in a Colonel Sanders bucket isn’t found dumped down every alleyway, I cry? Hark, the sound of a Deliveroo moped on an otherwise quiet evening? These are the things upcoming generations will hold in dearest retrospection upon reaching maturity. But come, let us flock around this new arrival in awe, on this December slow news day, for it is all we have and we learn to make do; save Subway, of course, where seven of your best earned quids will see you handling a BLT roll, you total ledge.
Ah, monopolisation has found a new home in Devizes and to hell with the independent bakeries, I chortle like a chav, as my belt buckle bursts from the weight of more cholesterol-hugging delights. Factual reporting here you know, I researched for this bitch of a scoop. Queues out the door and through the Shambles to get a Greggs at the Winter Festival, there was, while independent eateries a stone’s throw away nervously twitched their feet at the hope someone might drop by. And that’s reason enough to justify the opening of a second Greggs, question what have we become, and munch happily into our affordable pepperoni pizza slice till the watery juice stains our shirts.
Yeah, come over to mine, mate, celebrate its magnificent arrival; we’ve got a gazebo in the garden, going to play some Pop-Up Pirate and get some tandoori chicken baguettes in. Whoa, chicken? I thought that was “woke” now? The Daily Fail said it so it’s true, numpties! Get a “real,” pea-less pasty and shop for savoury delights from local purveyors, please.
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