I was born in Gip and raised in a village just a couple of miles away. I worked in various shops/factories in Gip and went to Sixth Form there. I saw bands, drank cider and kissed in cemeteries in Gip. I’ve never had a problem walking through Gip at night. I’ve frozen my arse off on the Town Hall steps [where all the cool kids hung out … do they still?] and been ‘shroom gathering in leafy parks. I’ve chatted boys up at the Crown Pools and stalked John Wark in McDonalds.
I like Gip. I love Gip. Gip would be the town I would love to live in, again. Work in, again. Or maybe Norwich. Given the choice that would actually be a toughie. But, for this entry’s sake, let’s say Gip is the place I feel most at home in, the place I could lay my weary head.
Gip is really famous for nothing. Oh, Thomas Wolsey was born in Gip, and Nik Kershaw went to school there. John Peel, Griff Rhys-Jones and Val Lehman all have connections with Gip [Val Lehman lived two doors away from a friend of mine and we used to stare out of the window for hours [minutes] waiting for her to come home – we were huge Prisoner: Cell Block H fans].
Today Gip is headline news.
National headline news.
It’s the sort of thing that only happens up north. Or in London. Or maybe Birmingham. It doesn’t happen in Gip. Gip is refined and … nice. Quiet and gentle.
Surely nobody in Gip could be a serial killer?
Ack, I’m better off living here where the children have webbed feet and they can’t pronounce their t’s.
please God bless the girls of Gip and keep them safe xxx Elsabeth