The truck I’m driving today had to go to the dealership in Sleaford for a spare part, which left me the choice of sitting in the driver’s waiting room or exploring the bright lights of Sleaford. It was an easy choice.
Now it’s been a few years since I was last in Sleaford and all I can say is it’s almost exactly the same. When I first visited Sleaford as an Officer Cadet I seem to remember the place being a vibrant buzzing little market town. When I returned some 10 years later it appeared to have lost a bit of its heart, as brand shops had been replaced by charity shops, but there were still few empty ones. Today, it looked exactly the same. And I was pleased to see it hadn’t declined further. There was even a few market stalls in the centre.
The sweet shop was still in the little arcade even though I’d predicted it wouldn’t last. Mr Doherty still had a fruit and veg stall in the market and Boyes hardware store was still in the car park by the smelly toilets. What had definitely moved on was the chap who used to walk round town in North American Indian clothes complete with moccasins. Today he was in the library in baggy shorts, a sweatshirt and trainers with Slazenger socks. His only resemblance to an American was the fact his short socks were pulled tightly up his calves like all good Americans.