Situated downwind from a huge landfill site, Bishop’s Cleeve’ nestles in a pungent aroma of Methyl Mercaptan. New residents promised the smell of the country instead endure most of the day in the smell of the swamp.
UK’s Largest Village
And how appropriate that smell is. Bishop’s Cleeve biggest claim to fame is being among one of the UK’s largest villages. Twenty years ago, the indigenous population was, either directly related to one of three farmers, or lived on a traveller camp. However, since then, the village has suffered a huge influx of outsiders, swelling the head count past 17000. The gene pool has taken a turn for the worse with the building of vast swathes of social housing. The County Council is experimenting in ******* it all up by transplanting Gloucester and Cheltenham’s council house finest in to the village to see if they can behave themselves in a house they borrowed £1000 from a loan shark in order to own 1% of.
This tragic trajectory continues unabated as developers throw up ever more soulless red brick boxes on the green belt. The problem is that while being robbed blind in steep council taxes to fund other parts of Gloucestershire which remain in the third world, residents have seen almost no local facilities and infrastructure improvements. Now, large numbers of people have nothing to do except take recreational drugs, which is making millionaires out of county lines dealers.
Tesco’s Amusement Park
Weed is [allegedly] openly sold to teenagers outside the local Tesco, which often has Soviet era bare shelves. The bored teens are easy victims though. The only things going on for them until they are old enough to claim dole are popping wheelies on stolen mountain bikes in The Tesco car park, kicking down the stone wall in the Tesco car park, or fighting outside the obligatory branch of Subway next to the Tesco car park.
Every children’s playground in the Village is strewn with discarded weed wraps. With only a single PCSO available, the Police have resorted to permanently flying the Gloucestershire Police helicopter over Cleeve all night to spot the marauding teenagers as they instinctively roam from playground to playground.
The adults offer no example to follow. The monotony of dull work at an insurance company coupled with living in the waft of swamp gas from the tip has driven them to binging on cheap cocaine from Brummie dealers patrolling the estates in BMW’s with darkened windows. Each of the three pubs in the village has its own peculiar clique of Sky sports loving indigenous patrons.
Yes, if ever Kabul, Baghdad or Beirut are looking for a twin town, they need look no further than Bishop’s Cleeve.