Seaford is the end of the line, literally. It’s the British rail station where the train goes back the other way when it has dumped its scraggy c***s into this poor excuse of a town.
It’s almost as if even British Rail haven’t got the balls to venture any further into the type of town where I saw a c**v get chucked through a plate glass window late on Christmas Eve.
It’s the kind of town where even the resident cop followed me for over two miles for glancing in his direction at some red lights. When he finally stopped alongside me he asked me if I was ‘eyeballing him.’ Nice.
The C***s here thrive in every pub. You’re generally not safe after about 8:00pm in any of them – especially the ‘Hole in the Wall’ where I was thrown against a wall for pleasantly petting a C**v’s dog two years ago. Maybe i should have kicked it or somethig.
Don’t go there.