I have now completed a year working in the Dunstable area and any day now I am expecting the Queen to summon me for my knighthood. Dunstable has to be one of the worst towns in the country. It has more taxi drivers than people, I swear I was asked if I needed a taxi (although pronounced “Taxi boss?”) while I was in my car. The town is obviously designed as an ode to Logan’s run and people have as much pride in their houses as Naomi Campbell would do for genital herpes.
I have often said that predictive text on a mobile phone has a sixth sense, as in my ex was called Ang and it would try to replace this with nag. Well try Dunstable and it will change it to Dump table. It knows. It is not that it is the most deprived area, nor the ugliest; it is that no one cares, no one works and no one has any interest in other people. It is like a cell that has just been infected by the Luton virus and does not bother to take the antibiotics.
The worst thing about this place has to be the lack of class. Class to someone from Dunstable is something that you ditched when at school. When it comes to fashion, the last time the clothes worn by the locals were seen was in an Adam Ant video. People comment at Christmas at the house covered in neon signs requesting “Santa please stop here” with phrases like “Doesn’t that look nice” . No it doesn’t, it looks cheap, it looks chavvy, and basically it looks s**t.
Everyone in Dumptable has a limp which can only come from many years of previous generations introducing their siblings as their partners. All the teenagers are in tracksuits and as for Dunstable College; I’m personally convinced that this is where you go when you are turned down by Borstel.
In short, why anyone would choose to live here is beyond my comprehension. There are some nice hills and open areas which leads me to request that the British army forget Salisbury and start the maneuvers right here. Some of the larger guns should be able to target Luton as the icing on the cake.