Ah, another beautiful day down in Weybridge is coming to a close. As I gaze upon the silhouettes of the sun kissed high street, I can’t help but wonder if its the c***s who have ruined this quaint commuter belt stop, or the upper middle class children who idolise them. You see, in order to keep businesses up and running in this little town, we have taken the idea of migrants to a new extreme.
From morning till sunset, buses heard stone island branded entrepreneurs from Woking and other locally known artisan destinations into our Wetherspoons pubs (locally known as the livestock pens for the unemployed) and into our lush parks. And so begins a new day in Weybridge.
By 1pm the place is buzzing with beautiful aromas of D grade weed, quarrelling couples identified by their signature rose and crosses tattoos, and welfare mothers looking for any excuse to not parent their children. “The aesthetics of the buildings must be nice though” – ah alas, a pipe dream for many. Once a historical gem of the thames river, our architecture has devolved into bleak purposeless eyesores, hideous ‘modernism’, and half-arsed neoclassical structures. If it isn’t the wretchedness of the urban design that will break your spirit, maybe the average £1m asking prices will.
Queens road was once a bustling dining and leisure hub, now it is a place where old people go to die. Next to the spiralling cathedral pillars are polluted billboards of smiling old people pretending that they made the right decision in purchasing a McCarthy retirement home.
Red bar; once a thriving epicentre for Surrey’s youngest and brightest, now [allegedly] a sad middle-aged bar where divorced singletons unload their emotional baggage. One redeeming factor is however seeing the £30k private school kids becoming drug dealers, forming gangs and dressing like a promoter from Sports Direct. Perhaps equality is closer than we think.