It is comparatively classless, with its cheap and uniform chain stores and its new industries - the electronics, synthetic fibres, light engineering and aircraft factories spreading around London and through the Midlands. Slough, a byword for the new, suburban, light industrial and rather monotonous country taking shape, provoked one of Betjeman's angriest poems. 'Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough / it isn't fit for humans now. Those air-conditioned, bright canteens / Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans / Tinned minds, tinned breath...' ... "Too much of it is simply a trumpery imitation ... There is about it a rather depressing monotony. Too much of this life is being stamped on from outside ... this new England is lacking in character, in zest, gusto, flavour, bite, drive, originality." 引自 Prologue
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