Poor old Maggie would be turning in her grave if she were dead at what has become of her birthplace. It is a town of taxis, takeaways, traffic lights and there is nothing better the population here of the great unwashed love than ordering their taxis to collect them after their weekly shop of lard, white bread and turkey twizzlers. The rubbish litters the strees, the tattoo'ed young ladies abound pushing their pushchairs into their housing benefit paid-for new houses while their husbands frequent the 8 nightclubs in the town before retiring home for the night with their McDonalds, KFC's or pizzas from the 50 or so takeaway joints that run the length of a one mile strip of a once grand old Georgian town.
Anyone who moans about Calis really ought to come here for a weekend - it is like Magaluf without the sun.
