I live in Epping. Sometimes I call it Effing. You’re not allowed to call it Effing. Unless you live here too. I won’t outline the reasons why I sometimes call it Effing.
A couple of months ago I noticed a set of strange signs facing a useless direction. All these blank road signs with glorious pink strings attached to them, like a spirograph had been at work. (If you don’t know what a spirograph is, you’re under 40 years of age.) Anyhow, occasionally I’d drive past these signs wondering what they were, making a mental note to come back one day to take photos. These mental notes would evaporate about 300 metres later, only to be scrawled again the next time I happened to drive along High St.
However, clearly, I did go back one day to take pictures, didn’t I?
What I discovered was that there were all…
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