Drayton

Drayton is what happens when a city gets tired and lies down under a hill. The New Inn has been standing here since before anyone thought to build a Portsmouth around it, and it still sells a pint to men who have not raised their voices since the Falklands. Every driveway holds a car that gets washed, every hedge gets a trim, and nothing whatsoever has occurred here on a Saturday night in living memory. That is not a criticism. That is the sales pitch, and the people who live here would very much like you to stop reading now.