Passing through Okehampton during the day, in a car, you could be forgiven for thinking that this was a normal market town on the edge of Dartmoor. You would be very, very wrong. Okehampton is a town truly rotten to the core.

Okehampton is often over looked by the outside world due to it’s location and lack of any thing good there. This is the curse of Okehampton. Too small to be noticed, too big to be destroyed without anyone noticing. The lack of anything good to do leaves the inhabitants of Okehampton and the surrounding areas 2 life choices.

  1. leaving- Getting as far away from the place as possible Exeter or Bristol are traditional and distant enough choices.
  2. staying – Becoming an Okehamptonite

Things to do if you make the second (wrong) choice.

How grim is your Postcode?

Alcohol- Alcohol seems to be one of the best ways of escaping the hell that is Okehampton. Every weekend the Reebok classic clad filth of the town make the place feel more like a scene out of Night of the living Dead than a small Dartmoor town. The pubs are all rubbish and full of ***** apart from the Plymouth Inn, which shares no connection with its Cornish namesake. At least 11 o’clock brings peace…….. That is if it weren’t for Nero’s. Nero’s is Okehamptons premier (only) after 11 drinking hole. Apart from the mass vomiting and occasional orgy Nero’s is far from Romanesque. An eclectic mix of the worst pop music imaginable from the past 4 decades is pretty standard stuff for a Friday night. It’s Saturday’s however are different this is when Okehampton social elite turn Nero’s into an exciting mixing pot of musical styles and ideas, where the atmosphere is reminiscent of the first Woodstock. Only joking same ****, same **** music, except it’s £6 instead of £5 to get in. Nero’s was voted the 2nd worst club in England that was until the worst one burnt down. Mix all this booze, *****, ********* and squadies from Okehamptons army camp in side a 30-foot square box and you have a nightmare comparable only to an Alfred Hitchcock film.

Simmons Park – This oasis of green in the sprawling jumble of concrete that is Okehampton is not, unfortunately an oasis from the **** that infest said sprawling jumble. The small car park is all too familiar with the screech of tyres from a badly modified family hatchback. Its children’s climbing frames are frequently draped with the monkey like inhabitants of Okehamptons, get too close and they will start beating their chest and howling like the chavish mandrills they are. Any attempts by the council to make the park or indeed any place in Okehampton better are met with the same trademark response from the ***** of the town DESTROY, DESTROY, DESTROY. It’s like they enjoy the shitness of the place they infest and strive to keep it as **** through their mindless actions.

In conclusion I would have to say that the only hope for the Okehampton is a strategically placed Nuclear weapon and immediate repentance and hope that god forgive them for the way they have lived and wasted their lives…