Buckingham is a small market town about 15 miles from that renowned concrete anthill, Milton Keynes. To the untrained eye, it seems like a rather lovely place to live – old buildings devoid of 1960s brutalism, two supermarkets, lots of little indie shops etc. But the only thing that’s good about it…is not living there.
Despite the posh name and appearance, Buckingham is an absolute hole. Unless you are a chav, there is piss all to do here. Everybody seems to be related to or f*****g each other, and has more preteen mums than the average Bradford estate. There is zero nightlife, so the only place to go is Milton Keynes (Oceana) and obviously EVERYONE goes there. Dare to walk through the town centre at any time of the day, and you will be greeted by WKD-swigging, Sovereign-smoking, 14-year-old residents of the council estates Westfields and Western Avenue, as well as the other no-go areas such as Anderton Road and Bourton Road. If your attire lacks any sporting attributes you will have “facking goff” hurled at you because obviously, anyone who ain’t a chav must be a goff. And Buckingham doesn’t like them, hence why most can be found in MK.
Bus services are an absolute joke, with a crummy metal hut posing as the “bus station” where one bus per hour stops if you’re lucky. Cornwalls Meadow car park is THE place to be on Saturday nights, where modified car owners hold their little cruises. Chandos Park is the most common shagging ground for the town’s residents, as well as the annual Charter Fair, where, despite the rides, is just another place for the WKD-swiggers to convene. Beatings, abuse, armed robberies all regularly take place in this regally-monikered hell hole. People here DO NOT WEAR TWEED. They style themselves after Jack Tweed, more like!
This dismal little excuse for a town is best avoided unless you desire to surround yourself with wannabe-cockney Shameless extras.