I’m reading The Road to Nab End by William Woodruff at the moment, a beautifully told account of his childhood growing up in one of the poorest of Lancashire’s milltowns. What I like about the book (so far) is the way he describes a working class community and the misery of (real) poverty with humour but at the same time avoiding the sentimentalism that accompanies so much writing about the textile towns. Then I saw this .

Could there be anything more crass?