Folkestone has a squillionaire artz/yawn sugar daddy - and well done them for that serendipitous quirk of fate. Not that their townsfolk notice, nor give a tinker's toss, of course. Hey ho.
But we have DAFC! WE ARE DOVER. WITH WHITE CLIFFS IN OUR HEART.
Forza Dubris! Viva Dovoriana! Crabble Army! Allez Hess! Allez Douvres! White Army! Nuff said.
(Er, soz, shucks; I'll go now...)