Settle down boys and girls, and I will tell you a story. A story of the borough which ended up with all the ***** even the ********* towns in Britain disposed of. If you don’t already know, I’m talking about the rancid stench that is the London Borough of Bromley.
Bromley is full of ***** for many reasons. An easy-going council who give to the **** and take away (or can’t be arsed to deal with) anyone who can spell their name with no mistakes. Stores loved by ***** popping up EVERYWHERE. More two-bob, traffic warden fake police officers than there are real ones. And the fact that there are lots of stones for these ****** to crawl under when the weather gets bad.
The epicentre of this **** **** is the area known as “Bromley Town Centre”. The problem with this area is that you cannot walk through here during daylight without seeing at least one of the following:
– a ***** parent accompanied by another ***** pushing two prams which contain the ***** parents two children, as she spent her dole money intended for a double buggy on a DVD player and a 8-pack of Stella
– a bunch of mini ****’s wondering around what you once regarded as a decent shop, trying their best to look like they intend to buy something
– a group of **** children standing in one place, which you then walk past three hours later and notice they haven’t moved a muscle.
The stores loved by ***** make the backbone of this hellish shopping district. Primark, JD Sports, Sports Soccer (AKA Lillywhites), Argos and Poundland are all within reasonable walking distance makes this an ideal place for a day out with the family, while ***** who dare to dream (or got a recent dole payout) are able to wonder with amazement in Foot Locker and The Sony Centre wondering what they can spend their £89.77 that will last a lifetime. They do ask for it though, having TWO McDonalds is asking for a **** overload.
The most annoying thing about Bromley is the fact there is a “Super-Job Centre” there. Unable to cope with the demand of all the ***** wondering why their dole payments bounced, or “where my giro is”, Bromley were forced to move to bigger premises behind the station. This at least spares you the pain of looking at young ***-hags and their benefit-scrounging sugar daddies waiting for an appointment, but the knowledge that this **** benefit super-store is there is bad enough.
Another problem with the borough generally is that it is a key stop on the **** train line of doom. South Eastern trains is the ultimate **** escape. Whether it’s traveling “up Lahndon” or chancing a free ride home when the barrier staff let their guard down for ten seconds, you can bet your bottom dollar at some stage exiting or entering the station some **** will run into you trying to get on a train to Beckenham or trying to make Sports Soccer before it closes to buy some trainer whitener. The chavvies do like to leave their mark on the railway service – on one occasion traveling to Bromley I noticed the whole front car of the train was locked off due to some illiterate children’s idea of fun – ripping up every seat in the carriage and barricading the driver in his cab. Lovely.
The key to the ***** children in Bromley is again intimidation. If strength in numbers does not deter you, some random shouting apparently should. This is especially annoying if you are in McDonalds at the time. You don’t want to be disturbed when you are eating, so having a group of 15 “mistakes” (according to their parents – on the benefit sheet they are classed as “children”) spitting at one another and cacking loudly at someone’s mishap while you eat is ******* annoying. What makes it more so is that they have all chipped in 10p so they can share a hamburger between them – their tactic has been combated in KFC and Burger King, where a minimum fee of £2 per person to dine in is in place. Some shops do fight back. Clearly.
At night, you get to see the lovely daddy ***** come out. Entering The Swan, Walkabout and Lloyds suited up in their finest 3/4 lengths and polo shirts, sporting all their fresh Brasso-covered metal, they strut around the place as if they own it. This would be less laughable if most people didn’t know they had a tenner to spend between them and would be tucked up into bed by 10pm due to their lack of benefit-related funds. If you’re lucky they won’t start on you for looking at them funny, or pushing in the queue at the bar (ask them to spell the word to buy yourself some time – not queue, bar).
On a wider scale, Beckenham (**** hell-hole) and Biggin Hill (**** incest central) are some of the mini-**** epicentres, but you have to move further down the line to notice the REAL **** problem. Orpington. Orpington and it surroundings are probably worse than anywhere else apart from Bromley. Firstly, Orpington is a mini version of Bromley. It stinks of piss, has a McDonalds and JD Sports along with a Job Centre, and is easily accessible by bus, the limousine of choice for smelly ***** wannabees who sit on the bus for one stop then get off. Being barged out of the way by ***** trying to get the back seat of the bus to “look ‘ard” is one of the many reasons Blair should turn one of his nukes on Bromley.
The new bus system is great. Apparently, even though the working person pays extortionate rates to get on the bus, young ***** kids are allowed on for free with their ******* “Oyster” cards so they can find something to do. This usually involves saying “ah swear ah no im!” at another group of ***** who aren’t on the bus (if you’re lucky enough to see this happen when the bus is stationary, a conversation often starts between the two groups of *****, with the bus-based ****** sticking their fat faces through a tiny window trying to make conversation). Alternatively, you have the pleasure of listening to their true ***** music blaring from their (probably handed down) mobile phone, while they make out they know the words by singing along in a muffled voice, trying to make out they have some sort of rhythm.
Personally I haven’t had much trouble with ***** but I have seen it happen to others. They seem to draw power from terrorizing those who are weaker than them – this generally means the elderly, the young, and a one-legged blind man. Once in Orpington myself and my friend were approached by ***** males asking us to purchase Lambrini for them – clearly the years of stupidity have taken their toll when a ***** male prefers a woman’s drink to a beer.
St Mary Cray and St Paul’s Cray are both quite hilarious. Both mainly inhabited by *****, the residents of these hellholes take it upon themselves to argue over which area is worse, when in all truth they are both about as attractive as a **** that won’t flush. St Mary Cray’s beauty is made up of run-down council flats with leaky windows, all of which are shaken to their foundations when a train goes past – shows you get what you pay for with **** labour. Burning bins and stolen bikes are mainstays of this hellhole, along with children roaming the streets at night – a **** baby was once known to have exited a house and crawled along the road at 2am – take into account the fact that the **** kiddiewinks like to sit on the concrete stairs and do nothing shows what kind of a lovely place this is to live.
But St Pauls Cray is not much better. Greeting you here is a waste disposal works (great start). Most people can’t be arsed to spend their free time sorting their gardens – they would rather wonder what they will do with their dole cheque. Therefore a lovely landscape of overgrown grass, rusting cans of Stella and the odd car tyre will show you this is a lovely place to live. Put that together with couples openly admitting they **** the **** out of one another to solve arguments, and the boarded up shops, and you will find another place you would love to buy a house.
So I give you Bromley, Orpington, St Mary Cray and St Paul’s Cray. Gordon, if you’re reading, a tactical nuclear strike is in order. ASAP.