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Of Jerks and Butts
As I take the bus to Liverpool Street Station each morning, I do tend to mentally flatline I will admit. Sitting there with the latest recently-released BWO and Dragonette albums playing whilst I think of pretty much nothing is, as far as I’m concerned, one of the most sacred parts of the day.
However, there are two names that tend to spark some level of awareness as we motor recklessly past them which - if truth be told - make me smile no matter how many times I see them.
The lesser enjoyment is the mere existence of a place en-route called “Newington Butts”. Sadly the reason for the name is less amusing than the name itself, but there we are. I smirk, therefore I am.
The other - and to my mind far superior - diversion is a little earlier on the Brixton Road towards Oval. At first glance it appears to be nothing more than a small shop, part of a row of non-de-script frontages which can be found in any of the more urban London areas. But the name screams out to my admittedly puerile mind and has brightened up my day on several occasions.
It’s called the “Reggae Jerk Centre” and, frankly, the first time I saw it my mind boggled.
Naturally I have so far come up with three possible uses for the said centre and they are, to be fair, far more interesting to my mind than the truth.
But the imagination is always more interesting isn’t it?
Posted on September 28, 2007 | Filed Under My So-Called Life, The World we Live In
Comments
Response left by Pandemonia on September 30th, 2007
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Well, there you go, dissing the Butts again. Honestly, I bet you listen to the William Tell Overture and think Hi-Ho Silver! It’s smut and easy targets for you, Mr Morris!
Phnarf, Phnarf! Butts!