The title of the town's 'premier humourist' has well and truly passed to a new champion with this rundown of petty provincial parochialism (most of which I hadn't touched with the proverbial bargepole), but despite all that his love of our thriving hub which desperately wants to be the capital of the country's main gutter pours forth in a joyous tirade.
And on this evidence Reading definitely has some valid claims (well, it almost rhymes...).
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I don't get it, what's the rhyme?
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