Croydon= Chavdon

The January sales are here, and it seems the ***** feel a need to flock to the shops. The Allders sale is a big hit, with many-a-**** showing their true colours- fake burberry. The sales seem to appeal to the *****- ****** clothes at knock-down prices- safe blud. I get sick of watching the wiggers search for some two-stripe jogging bottoms and leave. Picture the scene, I’m standing outside the newsagents on the corner opposite where KFC is, and this fat ***** wearing a fake burberry scarf (it was a bit chilly!) goes into the shop giving me evils. I look back at him, he looks back at me. He emerges from the shop, pockets most likely filled with snacks, and walks straight at me expecting me to get out the way because he’s a ‘badass’. Well, I don’t move, and wait for him to barge me. To my surprise he doesn’t. He mutters something under his breath (probably in Irish dialect) and carries on waddling. Pretty pleased that I didn’t get ‘stabbed up’ I leave. Should I have to put up with this **** looking at me like he’s better? No. Should I have to look another way in case I aggrevate a ********? No. But, that’s what you get when you go to Croydon.

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