With more than a passing resemblance to some nightmarish Aphex Twin video, Bransholme was contructed back in the dark days of the cold war as an example of what the world may look like after a nuclear holocaust. Officially the largest council estate in the world (yeh take that Cabrini Green!), this far flung outpost of utter misery and despair is populated almost entirely by slack jawed drug-addled cavemen, their battered companions and numerous evil offspring. To venture into this terrifying void is like decending into the underworld. I have been shot at with air rifles and had bricks thrown at me several times while enduring a mad max like bus journey through this boarded up, semi derelict sprawl.
Take a car through here (doors locked) and pere wide-eyed at the calamity outside. 4 year olds shove lighted fireworks through some unfortunate OAP’s letterbox while 12 year old baseball capped arseholes tear up and down the rubble strewn streets in stolen Corsas. Meanwhile 13 year old Chardonnay takes her twins Rooney and Brooklyn to see the social worker at the local heavily fortified ‘outreach centre’. Down at the local shopping arcade, security guards fight running battles with schoolage smackheads as tatooed neandathals in England shirts heap crateloads of cheap lager and economy burgers into trolleys which they’ll later throw into next-doors garden. Rumour has it, John Carpenter was inspired to write ‘Escape from New York’ after mistakenly straying into Bransholme and being beaten up by a girl chav gang wielding iron bars.