Tootle, tootle: His Highness tours the Royal Domain

Apologies for the title brought on by a mercifully short and sudden attack of RUBI SLUT (RUssell Brand Inflated Sense of Literary Uber-Talent [Booky wooky? Does the country realise he's talking to us as if we were toddlers/senile and we're paying for the privilege])). But to some extent it does ring true: today I did venture out of the village for the first time. Why? Well, couple of reasons spring to mind:

1) To see if there were any interesting jobs going. By interesting, I mean something posted in a Newsagents rather than Hays, Adecco, yadah, blah, bleugh, phut.

Let's see if this sentiment still rings true when I'm desperate for a job in a couple of weeks.

2) To find a yoga group.

3) To find any other local group worth joining.

But before I present my findings, I think it's only fair that I provide a comprehensive background about where I live - Hale Barns - and the neighbouring towns and villages. For the few of you who are familiar with these exotic reaches of our green and pleasant land, please bear with me.

Hale Barns: an affluent area, very close to the airport, centring on a small, crap 60-style shopping precinct (think Cambridge centre on a micro-scale), which itself centres on a raised brick patio that has three benches on it. Half the shops are closed down; we have a good Tandoori who have taken to calling me 'Madame' every time I order a curry; a Co-op; and a shop selling Jewish merchandise, whose survival I am sure is in no way related to the fact that the landlords are themselves Jewish. No way. Whatsoever.

I also went to the local Grammar school, St Ambrose. He may be an ancestor of the custard magnate but I can't be sure.

About a mile down the road is Hale, itself another affluent area that provides modest accommodation for many a Coronation Street star. After slogging up and down the damp faux-cobbled streets of Wetherfield it is only right that these relfections of our moral fortitude/wanings should be able to spend their downtime strolling through tree-lined avenues, sipping macchiato in small coffee shops and spending their wage packets propping up the environment by buying organic prunes from As Nature Intended, an organic store that serves as a cash cow for the Iceland chain. As such, Hale is pleasant on the eye during the day, though at night it can be a bit tasty: it's wine bars serving as a Mecca (poor metaphor, I admit) for any pissed up rapscallion (fucking RUBI SLUT) wanting to notch another celebrity in their Spotter's jotbook. Most likely this will involve a run-in with Corrie's Kevin Webster who is a perennial favourite at the Cheshire Midland public house.

Finally, about half-a-mile from Hale is Altrincham, lovingly referred to as Alti by us natives. It's the nearest town and is the most southern stop on the GMT tram network, which will whisk you into Manchester in 30 minutes and at a cost greater than that of an Oyster Card single to zone 3. Poor Alti hit a slump a few years back, but now it's the phoenix from the ashes boasting a new cinema complex, KFC and H&M. Such resplendence proved too much for the local MacDonald's which has disappeared to haunt pastures new.

Most probably Hale Barns.

So, there you have it. My domain as it stands. Doesn't sound stunning, but after thinking about it there were many places I've visited in the past year that I wouldn't want to live in. All those small towns in New Zealand; Adelaide; the back of beyonds in Canada. Small town life is pretty much the same wherever you go - only the accents and the scenery change.

So anyway, getting back to what I was saying. I failed on 1) and 3). There are bugger all interesting jobs round here and nobody seems to have organised a group for anything that interesting. I was, however, able to find myself a few local yoga groups so I should be able to get on with one soon, thus fulfilling what I updated in the 'Interests' section of my CV and so ensuring that it contains one less lie.

Metal Monkey: looking with the benefit of hindsight since next Friday.