As part of an original writing coursework, I asked the students I teach to write about the place where they live in two ways; the first as if you love it and the latter as if you loathe it. This is my exemplar!
York has to be one of the most fashionable, trendy and beautiful places that exist on God’s glorious earth. As a resident there myself, I feel immensely privileged and marvel at the magnificent thought that if you was to say to me ten years ago that in ten years I would be living here, I would laugh in your face. From the very centre, itself bestowed with an array of olde worlde buildings in The Shambles to the glimmering glory of the shopping centre itself, it radiates beauty as you travel further outwards. It is a mixture of leafy suburbs, with clean, precise roads, where drivers drive carefully and thoughtfully, merged with tinier inner city suburbs that share row to row, two up, two down tenements of pure class and beauty. It is quite simply, the best place to live in this wide earth!
York! What a place! How people can think of living here is beyond my comprehension, unless of course, you are past the age of 65 and middle class in your ways. Oh boy, what a travesty of social class divides York really is, or more precisely, as the locals call it, “Yark!” It is one of those places that once you visit, you say, “never again.” And you mean it for the roads are covered in litter. The drains keep overflowing, bringing forth the stench of days of rotting human waste. The only thing that makes it a place of interest is the Minster itself, and that is as old and dilapidated as its residents. Take my advice folks, stay away from York, for you never know just what you might catch if you visit this travesty of tourism!