Garth Marenghi's Darkplace

'Everywhere I went I felt like they were watching me. Fish-white flesh puckered by the highland breeze. Tight eyes peering out for fresh meat. Screechy booze-soaked voices hollering for a taxi to take them half-way up the road to the next all-night watering hole. A shatter of glass. A round of applause. A 16-year-old mother of three vomiting in an open sewer. Bairns looking on, chewing on potato cakes. I ain't never goin back. Not never...'

Could almost be in a Constantine comic. And that's the genius of Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. It knows its genre trash so well that, take a few pisstakes away, it could be real genre trash.

Personal favourite voiceover line, for sheer ludicrousness:

'On a nearby rooftop, a bird took flight, but not even that could spoil this beautiful moment, as rosy-fingered dawn cupped Romford in its hands and thumbed open the new day's crack.'

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