Abingdon – metaphorically like Oxford’s aggressive, ugly little brother that no one goes near, primarily for the fear that he will hurl abuse upon sight, steal your handbag, or even better, stab you. The reason no one does come here is because you are likely to have abuse hurled at you on sight, have you’re handbag stolen, or be stabbed. Those who have seen the Lord of the Rings trilogy will remember the presence of two of the evil Sauron’s outposts, Isengard and The Black Gates in Mordor. Like so with Abingdon, there are two outposts from which c***s pour, seemingly in their thousands. They are ‘Saxton Road’ and ‘The Peachcroft Estate’. Saxton Road in the south of the town and Peachcroft estate in the north – they rule the town with violence, aggression and general naughtiness. Interestingly, the c***s from these hives of filth are very different; I have spent the last few years observing them and can now reveal my results.
Saxton Road – inhabitants are termed ‘sakkies’ (sack-ies) and have been here since the dawn of time, way before those in Peachcroft, and are respectively bigger, stronger and older than their northern counterparts. These pleasant people inhabit a long road of council houses with a pub situated midway down. This establishment (the Saxton Arms – how original) has rarely been seen from the inside by the general public, as everyone is far too scared to go near it. When not stalking their home ground, the sakkies have been known to venture as far as Oxford, where they meet with their council house comrades from the Blackbird Leyes estate, who are, frankly, f*****g terrifying.
Otherwise they can be found in McDonalds or the town centre, where they smoke, eat food and hit anyone dressed predominantly in black or with baggy trousers on. Usually seen in smaller groups of 2-3, the presence of a machete or gun in the trousers usually making up for the smaller numbers. I myself recently had an alarming run in with a group of these creatures. Myself and four friends had visited the Off license and had two carrier bags of alcohol…walking back to the park, we were taken completely by surprise by what appeared to be a stealth pincer movement attack conducted by two c***s on bikes. The bags were stolen simultaneously; needless to say we were taken completely unawares. This breed has reached a certain level of intelligence I feel to pose a threat, whereby they plan co-ordinated attacks. Also interesting to see the use of the bike as more than a mobile spitting platform.
N.B this breed has become scarcer of late, with a definite drop in numbers. I have been told this is because they are all in prison. Figures.
Peachcroft Estate – are lovely people This lot from the north of Abingdon are generally smaller, younger and move in large packs of anything from 4 upwards. However there are lots of them. I’ve suggested pest control, but the council is hesitant. This area is a newer estate and as a result can seem less grotty as houses are mostly respectable detached buildings. However, their c**v inhabitants are equally dangerous. They never leave the surrounding area, as they have immediate access to a pub, Budgens, and a shitty basketball court , as well as the Childs playground which they all sit in, like a large group of primates hanging off branches. 100% seriously, the pub has banned anyone from wearing Burberry clothing on the premises. It’s a step, but it’s not enough. Incidentally, the startling appearance of their tracksuits suggests some kind of deal has been cut with Daz.
The exception to the above is when, every Friday, all those who aren’t a) OD’ing in a curb b) in the back of a police car make the epic journey across town to the Nags head, where they lager themselves into a frenzy then beat each others heads in. As the Nags head is a nice pub, if you ignore the clientele, I often make my way down there. Exposure to this environment has lead to skin as thick as an elephant, and reflexes to rival a Jedi. The council has also refused the lease of council lightsabers for c**v control purpose.
The only notable haunt of both species is Albert Park, a lovely open area where I grew up, running around, playing football, chatting with friends and being chased and beaten to a pulp. Past 6pm in the summer, this area is a no – go unless with a group of 20+. It was here that I was given my charming nickname of ‘f*****g prick’ by which I am now known to these people by. Coming from a 5 foot, ginger kid with a squeaky voice, proudly astride his mothers bike; the only thing that stopped an appropriate response from me was the presence of a guy who looked like Mr. T’s white brother and a guy I could have sworn I saw on crime watch recently.
In conclusion: Never come here. ever.