I have posted one story about one area within the a******e of England, Hull but I would like to draw your attention to another Estate within this god forsaken City.
Preston Road Estate or “Prezzeee Roaud” if you live near this hell hole.
The older residents would have you believe that Preston Road started life as an upmarket, interwar estate where workers that once worked on Hulls docklands resided. Utter bull… It was put up as part of a slum clearance programme and the resulting refuse that were housed there set the scene for the estate for the next half a centaury. We are talking “the” estate that housed the original interwar P****s and C***s and it remains similar to this day. Imagine, if you can, an Estate that has fifth generation C***s… Yes folks, ChavTreck… “The next generation”.
The problem in describing this unusual area is where to start… as I have mentioned before, Hull has a rich heritage going back to 1642 when Sir John Hotham closed it’s gates on King Charles and told the king to “fhuk off you ain’t enough Bizzell”.
Nowhere can the effects of a closed door policy be seen better than on Preston Road Estate. The resultant inbreeding, incest and thinning of the gene pool has given rise to a situation where most CSA DNA tests lead to numerous possibilities including some farm animals.
C***s are abound and baseball caps can be seen on nearly head, in some instances, two per person. Pensioners don Diawa caps whilst the third generation, 30 something c***s try to look sophisticated in red F1 baseball caps as they mosey on down to the local hostelry, “The Red L” to spend quality time with their estranged kids, Jaimeee and Kyleee.
The “Red L” is something of a institution on the Estate, in fact it is only two hundred meters from Hull’s high security prison, so most estate people feel right at home there. The Red L is known as a recycling centre, it mainly recycles peoples stolen giros books for pre used DVD recorders and packets containing white substances.
The shops are where the majority of the youngest generation of C***s hang out, like maggots round a dead Starling, leaching off any who dare venture to the “Offie” for their Special Brew and White Lightning for the Mrs. They don’t don Bling jewellery, the sovereign rings are real and family heirlooms, passed from father to child (CSA report pending) as they reach the age of consent… approx 12.
The C***s here are truly pathetic, they don’t even have Novas. Such is the level of abject poverty thee kids have to make do with nicking old Fiestas and sticking on cardboard spoilers with plastic wood and masking tape. However this does not stop them wheel spinning these contraptions all across the estate in order to impress the young, hoped earring brigade, including Salleee and Aimeeee, who will drop them in an instant for a “rebel without a clue”. In fact, these girls bang like a s**t house door in a dysentery infested school and are onto their third abortions by the age of 16, at which time they are deemed old enough to bring up a “bairn”.
In 1996 the spotlight shone onto Preston Road and the Government decided to invest £50m into improving the estate. Teams of professionals poured onto the area, with the best of intentions, setting up camp in the local school. Computers and hi tech equipment was brought in, nicked, brought in again, nicked… and the professionals fled for their lives as they realised there was little they could do for this bunch of mutants.
They retreated to a school off the estate and erected high fences and spent most of the £50m on security equipment to protect themselves from the hoard.
Once again, Prezzy Road, stands proud. Hitler couldn’t bomb the crap out of it nor could New Labour. It stands as a shinning example of what can be achieved if the residents of a community stand together and say “f**k off you wan*ers”.