By Helen Harrod
I struggled to write this, my inspirational well of nonsense had run dry. I asked two friends to give me a nudge. One told me to write a rant about boy racers. Right… I’m a thirty four year old married mother of two, who incidentally, doesn’t drive. What do I know about boy racers?
Another friend told me to write about naughty pub names, once again, the same as above applies.
It has got me thinking though… If you have the Horndon, would you put your Fobbing Little Thurrock in the Dane Holes Southend?
Dear Lord! That sounds Mucking Orsett.
Liken it if you will to a Two Ronnie’s sketch, but we have got some funny places round here. I have an urge to get all these names made into magnetic strips, so I can stick them on my fridge and play with them. Not unlike those little sets of Shakespearean words you can move around to make filthy sentences.
Why limit it to Thurrock?
In Essex alone I found these gems.
And the one that made my husband titter, Fingringhoe.
Cor, if my mum caught sight of this she’d take a Birchanger to my Butts Lane.