Part fact, part fiction and by turn both tragic and comic, the Barbed Wyre forgoes Rotor-active Young Farmers, porcelain Elgar’s, eschews the Sauce and heads for the county’s heartbeat; achingly bland villages bordering sleepy market towns with their ketamine kidz, blissed out on scrumpy and dreaming of Gloucester’s neon docks all the while waiting outside a shop that’s always closed for a bus that never arrives.

...to the 6 boroughs!