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Tunbridge Wells or (given its proper name, not the commoner's version) Royal Tunbridge Wells is a megalopolis in Kent and the capital city of Great Britain, a few miles south of the small mining village of London. It was discovered in 1606 by John Motson, who was riding through the woods on the way to Tonbridge for a night out in SOS with his chav mates. He stumbled across a spring of water and Richard Dawkins, who was staying in a nearby tent on a religious retreat, brought him a cup from which he could drink the water. Motty spat the water into Dawkins' face, shouting "It tastes like coins!" and also saying he thought 40p was quite expensive, especially considering there's a free spring 5 yards away. Dawkins blessed Motty, and thanked him for reaffirming his faith in God. It became Royal when it became the favorite illegitimate meeting place of kings
A community began to grow around the spring. The first J.D. Wetherspoon pub opened there in 1744, with a huge ribbon cutting ceremony hosted by Red Rum, and attended by luminaries of the time such as Paul Ross, Van Helsing, Fireman Sam and Tom Hanks. Bob Carolgees pulled the first pint. Initially, the pub ran a roaring trade, but as numbers dwindled (regular patrons were rumoured to have said, "There's just too much variation in this pub - if only it never changed then maybe we'd come back every Friday night from now until the rapture because the Pitcher & Piano is so f*cking expensive and only sells shit beer") Mr. Spoon pulled the plug and sold up in 1759 to local opera enthusiast Paris Hilton. Many believe the conversion of the pub to an opera house began a huge decline for the city, citing numerous drunken fights in the town centre between opera fans after the show had finished arguing about Pavarotti and William Shatner's relative contribution to the arts.
edit The spring
As word spread about the miracle effects of the water (turning your poo black, like Guinness but without the fun of getting drunk), millions of Conservative voters flocked to live there, but with the Tory council only able to budget for key services, such as chewing gum removal vans and the prevention of any new nightclubs opening, the Labour government stepped in and set up a scheme to dispense the water and the job known as "dipper" was invented. This has a two-fold meaning, describing: a) the action of dipping a ladel into the water from which the drink is served; and b) dipping one's genitals into the water and urinating while nobody is looking, thus maintaining the springs' distinctive flavour. The job of dipper remains to this day, though only during the summer months to serve water to the average of 3 people per year that actually visit the pantiles. Dippers are usually lazy students who can't be arsed to do a proper job, or middle-aged and otherwise unemployable people sent as a last resort by the Job Centre.
edit Present day
There are currently 6 million people living in Tunbridge Wells, with even more making the 45-minute journey every day from London to work in one of the many high-rise office blocks or to clean poo off the floor of the food court in the Royal Victoria Place. The RVP was opened in 1992 by heir to the throne HRH Toby Anstiss, Prince of Persia. The city centre itself was dominated by the Millenium Clock, which originally stood as high as the new Wembley Arch. Sadly, after Multiplex misunderestimated the construction budget (which eventually ran to £800 billion), the government was forced to transport most of the metal to form the arch. The clock lives on as a shadow of its former self, serving as a haven for tramps to keep an eye on the time as they drink a can of Special Brew every 23 minutes (this was the original plotline for the film The Number 23, starring Colin Montgomery as a Special Brew-drinking tramp who has a really bad idea for making a film about the number 23, but is worried that no-one in Tunbridge Wells will get to see the film because the Cinema is fucking miles away and no-one's really sure what time the buses are).
For a city plagued by its upper middle class, Daily Mail-reading, Tory voting, Old-Boys'-and-buggery club population, there is fortunately an ever increasing Chav population, headed by a councillor which swells the city centre on Saturdays when millions of them gather around the Millennium Clock to listen to MP Archie Norman extol the virtues of Neo-Conservatism and the rampant sex appeal of our Lord and Savior, Margaret Thatcher. There are often major riots between the opposing factions which on numerous occasions have ended with the chavs being shot by upper-middle class guns and their bodies thrown into Tonbridge where they are then quickly consumed by the working class populace who live there.
On weekdays, truant kids and OAPs converge on local ale houses to drink away the day and moan about New Labour and Trump, while special task forces patrol the pantiles to prevent local businessmen hanging themselves for trying to make money in an area about as profitable as a Cat's liver.
The Camden Park neighbourhood has been twinned with 5th Avenue so that Mr Trump can easily meet with his counterpart in this area and convene in houses similar to his own.
Local MP was Archie Norman, the longest standing Member of Parliament, and also the world's oldest man at 783. He had been MP for Tunbridge Wells since 1492, when Columbo travelled through it on his voyage to America and gave it to his pal, Mr. Kipling, who in turn gave it to his son, Archie. Of course, no-one yet lived there because the spring wasn't discovered for another 114 years, so Archie spent his time building the embryonic chamber from which Margaret Thatcher was eventually grown.
The current MP for Tunbridge Wells is Greg Clark, a highly discerning gentleman who can be relied upon to do whatever it is he does to the best of his ability, not that anybody in Tunbridge Wells will notice.
A prerequisite for living in the town is that one must be a Tory voter, or alternatively a chav with extreme right-wing persuasions. Though at either end of the socio-economic scale, the two find common ground because there are perceived to be too many foreigners in the country taking up our jobs - note that the chavs don't do any work and are quite happy taking handouts from the welfare state while foreigners work and pay taxes that give the chavs their dole money. However, they still vote BNP.
The Tory council strives daily to improve quality of life in the town by offering:
- An unreliable, under-funded bus service that doesn't go anywhere;
- Chewing gum removal men, whilst unimportant issues like Crime and Anti-Social behaviour continue to not affect anyone;
- Ample, adequate, extortionate housing in friendly areas for Tory voters;
- Ethnic cleansing;
- A clampdown on social ameneties like pubs and clubs;
- Free copies of the Daily Mail distributed by Councillor Moore
- A testicle-jugglingly-charged-hand approach to matters of any importance.
Local hero Terry Wogan once ran for MP, but was defeated amidst cries of foul play because not all the votes in Florida had been counted correctly and "Eurovision is a load of old bollocks but I like the blonde one from ABBA."
edit J.D. Wetherspoon & The Opera House
After the original Wetherspoon pub was converted to an opera house, Mr Spoon took a huge chance in getting the opera house back in exchange for sleeping with Paris Hilton. Mr Spoon sadly died before the pub re-opened, catching one of serial whore Hilton's many STD's. The move was widely criticised in business circles, not least because they knew of the dangers of STDs, but also because the popularity of drinking in Britain had been in decline for many years and it was thought that there wouldn't be sufficient patrons to turn a profit. Luckily, the popularity of drinking had something of a renaissance in Tunbridge Wells, so Friday nights in Wetherspoons are now awash with under age chavs getting tanked up on Lambrini, while respectable members of society gather on the common to drink beer, exchange pleasantries, and wee into the nearby public spring.
The opera house (or "Spoons" as it is affectionately known) holds 16,000 people, and so all other pubs in the area have been forced to close, unable to compete with the poor quality beer and rising numbers of deaths due to lack of air conditioning when there's far too many people inside but it's Christmas Eve and we can't be arsed to move and besides we'll probably die under a stampede of chavs if we try to get out anyway.