THERE I was, in the crowd outside the Guildhall with my excited Mum, hoping she’d get a glimpse of Theresa May. She didn’t. Even on tiptoe. The instant the PM came out, there was a predictable sea of mobile phones being waved over people’s heads, blocking everyone else’s view.

Having stationed myself further back from the fray, chatting to an acquaintance, I did spy an inch or so of grey hair bobbing along as she made for her car.

Still, at least she came here. Eventually.

And if nothing else, we could watch the helicopters with their TV cameras jockeying for position overhead. Then go home and catch the whole thing on the news.

We were there for ages. Every time the doors opened to let someone out there was a murmur of anticipation, a craning of necks. Then the let-down. Oh no, not another councillor!

Two girls nearby were laughing as they thumbed through their screens, and I overheard one say: “Near London.” Which is how some foreign media have been describing our location for their audiences back home.

“Near Stonehenge” is another one. A phrase I’m guilty of using myself if I’m on holiday abroad and people ask where we’re from.

“Blissfully rural”, “sleepy”, “quaint” and “genteel” were other terms I saw in the national press.

Well, those reporters obviously weren’t on the same planet as me, let alone in the same place.

It’s lazy metropolitan journalism, relying on clichés culled from tourism promotions.

Salisbury’s reputation seems based purely on the Cathedral Close and what remains of the historic chequers. Those elements of our city are, admittedly, quaint and lovely.

Others aren’t.

There’s nothing “genteel” about drunks having a go at the police guarding security cordons, or yobs shouting the odds as they strut, unhindered, along our pavements in broad daylight. Or the poor devils who sleep in Sainsbury’s car park or congregate on the library steps.

I’d describe Salisbury as epitomising society’s deep divisions.

I don’t find the view driving in from Amesbury or the Devizes road “blissfully rural”, with new housing developments standing out like sore thumbs. No attempt made to blend in with the landscape. Harnham’s green fields are next in line for that treatment.

Nothing much “sleepy” (except being motionless) about our gridlocked traffic, or the sirens threading their way through to the hospital – a sound so familiar we almost ignore it.

And as for “quintessentially English”, can anyone tell me what that actually means? If you’re talking about a cutesy-pie chocolate box village from Midsomer Murders or the Woodford Valley, you might get away with it.

But Salisbury? Home to two of the most deprived areas in the county? Really?

Not unless urban deprivation is considered “quintessentially English”. Perhaps it ought to be.

Anneriddle36@gmail.com