Loudwater is a ‘not-village’ nestled between the black hole of High Wycombe and the posh, achingly middle class Beaconsfield. Situated along London Road, walking anywhere in Loudwater means dodging cars hurtling off the roundabout towards the motorway or trundling to Tesco. Incidentally, living in Loudwater for long enough might just be enough to persuade you to ‘accidentally’ stumble onto said road, simply to save yourself from the crippling misery of having absolutely nothing to f*****g do.
Stuck for entertainment in Loudwater? How could you be?! There’s so much choice – a coffee in the tiny Costa branch in tesco, where the elderly shoppers can judge you up and down for wearing something from this decade, or maybe you could pop down to the newsagents and be sucked into your own slice of hell where you’re forced to make awkward conversation about your life that will no doubt be repeated the next time you go in there, like a twisted and very British version of Groundhog Day. Not enough for you? There’s always Snakely Park, where your first thought upon walking in is sure to be “smells like weed”, when the only people in the park are small children. We start them young here in Loudwater! We are raised among the empty nos canisters and broken beer bottles in the public places, right opposite the church. Because what fun is blazing unless you’re also praising? I’ll personally never forget my story of when I slid down the slide in said park and had to be plucked off by my mother before my arse met with the bong that someone had left at the bottom. Classy.
Also in Loudwater we have a funeral parlour, as it seems business owners know to gravitate here to find a place where both people and hope come to die. If it wasn’t for the buffet provided by Dominos and Mr India directly next to each other, I highly doubt anyone would drag themselves to this unfortunate s**t hole, except to pass through after escaping its dismal, dangerous neighbour, High Wycombe. The place is a weird mix of old houses and council flats that make it look like London’s east end took a s**t on the supposedly pleasant county of Buckinghamshire – the place used to be a pig farm, for crying out loud. But still, when asked where they live, residents of this shitty corner of hell will still say, “Loudwater – it’s on the edge of high Wycombe, not ACTUALLY high Wycombe”. Because let’s be real, there’s nowhere in bucks worse than Wycombe