Welcome to Bexhill on Sea, the town for people who can’t afford to live in Little Common, but whose parents love them enough to keep them away from Sidley.
Looking out of the train at the station before disembarking in this lively seaside resort, one can see signs that this is an up-and-coming residence for the discerning c**v. A station that once was a boring old, busy, listed building now clearly shows it’s potential for excitement with 21st century modernisation techniques in use, such as broken windows, graffiti, discarded cigarette packets, Special Brew cans and pools of vomit.
These examples of the expanding contemporary youth culture’s diverse and engaging hobbies and interests are proof that Bexhill would deserve the title of “Capital of Culture for the Bexhill-on-sea Region” should it ever be awarded.
As one’s tour takes them outside of the station, one can meet and possibly converse with the friendly locals on being required to join them for the pleasure of sharing a smoke with the ladies. And all of their friends. If a person who does smoke ventures to these parts, local experts say a wise thing to carry at all times would be an extra small packet of cheap cigarettes, with only 1 left. This way, conversation is limited to
“ay, mate, don’t suppose you’ve got a fag I can have do ya?”
“Sorry, I’ve only got one left”
“alright …. ‘ere, my mate [Kylie*] reckons you’re well fit”
“fack off [Liberty*], I’ve got a boyfriend”
“no you aven’t”
Thusly leaving oneself an opportunity to quietly leave while your new friends discuss whether or not [Darren*] counts as a boyfriend after “fursday night raand Edgerton” (the local park).
Now one’s tour ventures past one of the centres where exchange students congregate, and if one cares to observe the behaviour of “townies” (local lingo has it) in their natural habitat- administering blows upon German students “cos deyre f**kin nazis innit, dats wot my nan says and she’s 39”.
If one moves along prior to be mistaken themselves for Nazi students, one can observe the budding social life outside the King Fried Chicken (KFC-the land Trading Standards forgot). This corner shows a perfect slice of Bexhill’s expanding multiculturalism, as travelling folk and their descendants from Sidley meet with the native residents to discuss and mime their most recent amateur boxing [moral] victories. Look carefully and see patches of saliva, which demonstrate the recentness of the cultural turnaround, showing how the locals’ palates can still not quite manage the taste of brewed Belgian imports combined with cheap fags.
Across the road from this gathering, one can now see Sackville road, with it’s many kebab houses to cater for the growing Turkish cuisine and Belgian ale enthusiasts. Opposite the first of these that one sees is the library and it’s bench. This, apparently is truly a great place for c***s right across the South East to meet and arrange what parts of their social lives have not already been previously discussed by text messaging. A word of caution from the experienced- c***s have a strict code of honour when it comes to fleeing from a possible fight. If one walks alone past certain areas not wearing a white Nickelson zipped and hooded top and is started on by a group of these people, it is considered impolite not to stand and let 15 yobs kick one’s face in as 5 fat slappers hold them down, as it would not be “playing fair”.
I could write more about the “You Bexhill peeps ain’t ready 4 da Biggin Hill massive” graffiti’s portrayal of upcoming civil strife, or more about the town in general. But to be honest, I’ve got to walk this route in an hour’s time, so I’m going to try and think of a more appealing mental image than this town. Like envisaging film titles such as “Bestial Betty’s Animal Hospital Romp Volume 9″.
Avoid here if at all possible.
*names have been changed for legal reasons