The comedian couldn't believe his luck. This material would last him for months.
"The biggest news in Dorking", he repeated carefully, "in the last three months, was that the wheelie bins were a bit smelly during the summer?"
The audience shifted in their seats and, as one, nodded.
I live in the county of Surrey in a town called Dorking (something that amuses my Canadian and American friends no end.) Dorking is about as pathologically English as you can get without having major surgery. I live behind a street that consists almost entirely of Antique shops and pubs housed in buildings older than several major countries.
Dorking is populated by that breed of English pseudo-intellectual that pays lip-service to liberalism but is conservative with a small c at thier core. Recently, the Arts Centre had a 100-strong band of Romanian Gypsy musicians playing. This event was publicised by a leaflet distributed to all the local households, advertising the troupe with the words "The only time you'll be pleased to see a bunch of gypsies turn up on your doorstep". I kid you not.
This was all manna from heaven for the comic. Being insufferably English, we're also far too polite to heckle. The only intake of breath came when the chap, while elaborating on his hatred for ducks, suggested swapping ducklings for tennis balls, thus confusing the mother duck and making for an intriguing game of mixed doubles.
Yes, in Dorking we're ok with the police gunning down an innocent man - but don't mess with our animals.
