Bexleyheath is **** Nation to put it quite simply.
The ‘town centre’ is a breeding place for the **** of the earth, where locals places for ***** to gather are plenty, favourites including Mcdonalds, around the clocktower, and spotted around the many benches around the centre. A JD sports right by the mcdonalds supplies the constant supply of stupid all-brand nike and adidas clothes for the *******, and the local yates means they never lose a place to lose out on their beloved alco-pops, the good use of yates is the amount of drunken ***** that end up in hospital due to over-drinking and fighting, if only they died.. a favor to the town.
Just behind the local ASDA lies the half pipe, a place now covered in guards but still where ***** gather to smoke weed, drink there cheap alcohol and **** 13 year old ***** to carry on the **** tradition. A prime place to get mugged of your phone, money, virginity…
Right next to the half pipe is the basketball courts, anothe rprime breeding ground, and the ***** are never starvd of boredom as Goals, the 11 mini football pitches can be found and used by the public jut inside Bexleyheath school, one of the chaviest schools around.
A constant supply of ***** can be gotten from the 2 local schools, Bexleyheath and BETH’s, and the breeders for these ***** can be produced fom the all gilrs school Townley, where sluttyness and chavness are the first things taught, the ‘townley tarts’ as they are known.
Burn all *****.. save Britain!
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I have the pleasure in my existence as a temp to sit opposite a gentleman from the aforementioned Bexleyheath. I had only ever been through there on the train, legging it to Canterbury, and did not realise the **** hole it was until meeting and talking with this bloke. One of his first questions was “Have you ever been clubbing in Southend?” and I knew from there on in I was in trouble. Using him as an example of a Bexleyheathian, it seems that plastic fight pubs, such as Yates and the Rat and Parrot are the places to be in this armpit, which is a firm pointer to the social and intellectual ineptitude of the inhabitants. This bloke showed me his body kitted Corsa, value £2000 but with £15000 worth of work on it. He couldn’t believe I ate Mushrooms on Toast for breakfast, referring to it as “that ****,” while shovelling sausage and egg mcmuffin, washed down with two cans of coke. His call is of “Oi Nutter” or “Sickhead” and calls me son, even though he is younger than me.
Anyway, he and his mates are the core of Bexleyheath, and if they are anything to go by, I won’t jump off the train there soon.
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I live in the Medway towns, rumoured to be the source of all chavdom, and even I was appalled by the extent of the *********** in Bexleyheath. The Broadway shopping centre is the main lair. They lurk inside and around the mall in vast numbers: pale, spotty, unshaven creatures with gormless expressions and matching burberry caps and pale blue sportswear, looking like zombie paramilitaries. It is a scary place indeed.