Oadby, a town 2 miles from Leicester city centre, and a nest of degenerate, Burberry scum.
My God, where do I start.
Oadby is a small (30, 000) town with a line of shops, scuzzy pubs, and a large community College of which I am a student.
Oadby, and its larger adjoining town of Wigston, is a warm breeding nest for the germs that are Chavs.
Beauchamp College, a 2,500 student college in Oadby, has a germ infestation that makes AIDS and Syphillis look like common colds.
Every Shaquillah, Calleh, Amandah, and Chantelle are here, clad in market-brand Burberry and ‘real’ Louis Vuitton handbags.
There aren’t as many chavs in the older school years, as they are reserved for people with GCSE’s and A-Levels, but in the younger years 10-11, every orange-faced slapper and their Schott or Wu-Tang hoodied boyfriends are rife.
At the end of school, or a break and lunch for example, all the scuzzers hang around the entrance to school to smoke, spit, and harrass passers by. Why, I have no idea.
Standing around in the corridors annoys me as well, a group of nine 15 year old slappers standing, blocking the route, and gossiping about who got pregnant (again) over the weekend.
“Reallah? fuckin’ Ryaan? omigod, omigod, he’s the farvah of lickle Tyrone and Mercedes-Britney! Reallah? Innit? omigod”
and so forth.
Oadby itself is a mostly dormitory town, with many of the Uni halls of residences here. Thankfully, Chavs don’t do degrees.
(They do BTEC Travel and Tourism instead, you don’t need any GCSE’s to do it)
Pubs like the Old Library and the Black Dog contain some of the lowest of the low, pond scum that most algae would turn their nose up at.
Imagine turning over an old slab, that had been sitting in a cemetery for hundreds of years, and most of the bacteria on the underside have better IQ’s of the inbred, dole-sucking creatures you can find in the village centre.
There’s a Poundstretchaaah in the village, that seems to attract 13 year old mothers like some kind of industrial magnet.
As soon as lickle Porshah-Cristina, or Ayemeigh (Amy?) they slob over there to get them a crappy pram and nappies made from recycled glass chippings.
Theres a couple of bookies too, and just poking your head round the door would require you to report to the Center for Disease Control (as a potential carrier of The Plague).
Wigston is scuzzy too, but I’ll get to that on my next submission.
So if you fancy seeing the epitome of Chav, the archetype of toilet-bowl froth, come to Oadby, and get infected. Bring a fiver for a Burberry hat, too.