Sandy may be far smaller than it’s chavvy neighbour Biggleswade, with none of the essential shops for your average chav (New Look, poundstretcher), but that doesn’t stop the place from bursting at the seams with the number of chavs – just like their tracksuit bottoms.
Teen mums bulldozing flocks of kids with pushchairs, describing the latest bust-up with their man of the week at max volume and with every swearword faithfully reproduced. I had to walk past one the other day and was blinded by the sunlight glinting off her many sovereign rings. Perhaps each father gave her a “sry i noked u up” present.
Wrecked “hot” hatchbacks appear at night seemingly propelled down the high street by the blast of s**t music from both open front windows and that weird blue light underneath. Maybe Shaz is down there getting yet another topup on her “glow in the dark” tan.
The main industry in the town centre seems to be nail bars, with a pub and a Budgens for all those luxury items, like soap, toothpaste and a comb.
Hair salons probably get an easy ride here, as the females of the species all adopt the council face-lift pony tail.
What a great place for a compact nuke test-firing.