Bury St. Edmunds

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Bury St. Edmunds Bury St. Edmunds is a quaint little town in the most remote corner of the South-East of England. It is apparently ‘famous’, as claimed by its inhabitants, yet 99.9% of people I know have never heard of such a place, so I am forced to give them the crude description of “It’s somewhere near Cambridge” to satisfy their curiosity. The source of the town’s reputed fame is an old story that St. Edmund was slain by the Danes in 869 and was buried in the cathedral. However, that was over 1100 years ago, but the residents of Bury St. Edmunds still feel their town is extremely significant historically, and, in the unlikely event of tourists, never cease to retell the story. Unfortunately, it has been altered in so many places that nobody actually knows the real story; it has become more of a ploy to attract visitors. Bury St. Edmunds has many interesting features, the most prominent of which being the Brewery and sugar factory - it towers over half the buildings and can be seen from the other side of town, with copious amounts of smoke billowing out of the numerous chimneys. On some days, if you’re really lucky, you might manage to catch a whiff of the burnt starch from the factory. It’s quite strong, and, quite frankly, not the most pleasant of smells; even the residents of the town can’t help but wrinkle their noses in disgust at the sickening stench, no matter how much they claim to love it. The council has made many fruitless attempts to try and make the town as appealing as possible for the younger generations without destroying the wonderful charm of the town the older people adore. For many years, children have had to resort to ‘step on the crack, break your back’ on the cobbled paths and other dull pasti... ... middle of paper ... ... of - ‘The Nutshell’ is the smallest pub in Great Britain, so tiny that only a select few have managed to fit inside and see the interior; the architects severely miscalculated the size of building so hardly anyone can fit inside. The only other visitors have been an old black cat which died and was hung up as a stuffed decoration, and a few mice (which were eaten by the cat). The council also seems incredibly bothered about the appearance of the town and everything in it, and has encouraged home-owners to make sure their houses are spick-and-span. As a result, during the good weather, people are out mowing their lawns, competing with their neighbours to see who can make the loudest racket. There are also over 50 maintenance stores in the town, yet only one chocolate shop. Don’t these people realise that chocolate is so much more important than home improvements?

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