Loxton Drive had to be one of the biggest two-faced estates ever created. Full of alright people from numbers 32-39, the s**m that filled this sh*t from numbers 20-31 and 40-51 beggared belief. Ford Fiesta cars parked in the car park for 2 years without being moved, simply highlighted the disdain of which the council viewed this little oasis of faeces. Like any other council estate (funnily enough, the majority of the houses in 2003 were private!) there had to be the customary sofa and kitchen set outside in the middle of the car park. Oh how the little shitbags loved to play in the freezers that were there for months. I myself used to be well involved in the delightful games of ‘pelt the car with walnuts’. That was so much fun. Ah, bliss. But then I realised when I was 13, that it’s time to move on. But not the real Loxton Drivers. No no.
The real Loxton Drivers are the people that ensure the estate stayed in the deep f*****g sink it should be in now. I’m not sure, as I haven’t been back for 5 years. But Loxton Drive was special. Special in so many reasons that people now aged between 16 and 26 who lived on the estate in the late 1990s, I am sure have records. They’re probably there now training the younger generation up on how to deal drugs, get arrested 16 times before their 16th birthday and how to shag around the estate whilst catching as many STDs as possible.
I could name names. But I can’t. How overly personal that would be. Mind you, if the people that this was relevant for really did find this article, one would be flabbergasted at how such s**t can access the internet. Funny how the poorest families always have enough for ridiculous luxuries. Can’t say I had an overly privileged background. But I did go to school. That’s the difference.
And here we are. The end. But if any of you ChavTown explorers wish to pioneer a cuddle-mission into this s**t hole, then look no further than the glorious Number 5 bus. It is truly a reason to end all forms of public transport. First, I salute you for continuing to run the service. But not for hiking the prices on the Bristol-Bath train, which thank god I no longer have to get.
Goodbye Loxton Drive. I know it’s a few years late, but I am f*****g glad you’re gone.