Ramsey, Huntingdon Nr. Peterboro’
The ‘Near Peterborough’ bit should give you some kind of idea of what this place is like. To be honest, it should be a case of, ” ‘nuff said, I’ll never go there ever, thank you very much.”
However it’s gory details that you want, and to some extent, what you’ll get.
My memory of this place is a little bit sketchy, but I can recall all the salient points I need to make with stunning accuracy. Just recapping on what goes on in this place (to me at least) isn’t poking fun; it isn’t comedy; it’s therapy.
Just thinking of this dirty little **** ******** **** hole is enough to make me want to run upstairs and have a bath. Thinking of its inhabitants makes me want to blanket bomb the entire ******* place.
The entire place seems to be a single mothers refuge on one side, and a Barry-boy bolthole on the other. The two parties only ever seem to cross into the others territory in order to spawn or for a quick bunk up – the bunk up always seems to result in a baby **** (why are ***** so ******* fertile?)
Mr **** can always be referred to as a Barry-boy (being in possession of a barried-up Corsa), this, I am told, is due to the local influence of the offices of Max-Power, Revs and Performance Bike magazines.
The mummy ********* seem to range in age from 14 to 55, all dressed the same (I no longer feel I have to point out in what attire), and all dragging around very similar looking snot encrusted urchins. The female urchins, it would appear, always seem to need a piss whilst being dragged around the village. Mummy **** will have no qualms about pulling the childs knickers around her ankles, in full view of anyone, and letting baby **** piss freely in the street. This is also done almost without fail on a sloping area of pavement, just to let the piss flow in a pattern of ****** expression.
You will not fail to see the phenomenon during a stay longer than a week.
Where is the ******** dragging her little kiddy? To the ‘Rainbow’. Now this place isn’t a pub or crèche or anywhere like it may sound. No it’s the Co-op. Why it goes by the name ‘Rainbow’ I don’t know or even ******* care. It’s the Co-op, calling it something else seems to me like trying to polish a ****.
Nothing wrong with this place, just don’t be in the same pub drinking when it’s their staff night out.
If you do venture to one of the various pubs you will be confronted with the **** sooner rather than later. He will be the usual ****-witted moron, with the baseball cap and the acne. He will be keen to bum a cigarette of you, despite the fact he’s got most of a 20 pack in his pocket- you will know this because he will feel no shame or awkwardness in revealing the fact to you at some point later on in the evening. (This wont be intentional, he’ll just get out his **** without even thinking).
The ******** accompanying the **** will, at some point, either kick-off with him and have a full volume row in the middle of the pub; or go off in a huff to the toilets and have full volume piss and moan to her fat mate. Or both.
When not out drinking, the Ramsey **** will be riding around on his 50cc motorbike that’s about as quick as an electric wheelchair, but he’ll think he’s Eddie Kydd. He’ll be high on some kind of drugs too.
The real pisser about these people is that they are such brass-necked ******* ********** – all of them bar none. They will all try and beg off you anything that can be considered a commodity amongst the community (all *****). They almost can’t help it, like it’s some kind of compulsion.
If you notice the local women, they all do as much as they can to avoid paying for anything. They will scrounge off their boyfriends, husbands or even total strangers. These women would suck off a hobo’s dog for a double bacardi and coke.
Something else worth a mention is this: A few years ago the local mafia was run by, of all people, the ice-cream man. [I’m not making this up either!] I had the fortune to witness a resident mother purchase a ‘99’ and then talk about the possibility of the guy organising a ‘hit’.
Get to Peterborough station, and buy the first ticket to anywhere.
Histon, Cambridge: you will never meet a duller bunch of **** candles
Peterborough – there is no culture
Peterborough: oh for a nuclear bomb (or a really big bulldozer)
Ramsey, Huntingdon, Godless **** safari park
Huntingdon don’t bother
Peterborough – you shouldn’t be that close to your cousin
St Neots, Cambridgeshire, sounds a bit posh, in reality it’s far from it!