Windsor. One of the many homes of the most prestigious family in the world (debatably). Or so the media would lead you to beleive. Deep in the royal underbelly, beneath the flashing lights and awe filled tourists’ smiles is the real truth, the ****-ridden-burberry-********-truth.
Walking through the National Trust protected feilds it is rare that you do not have manure or hopelessly pathetic heckles thrown at you. Countless times have i heard “****” shouted across at me from the island they like to call “***** island” not because they dwell upon it.. no.. because that is where the actual ******* who live on the feild opposite like to go.
One would think a park named “bachelors acre” would be a serene and calm place to go. Assumption is a bad thing.. the old cemetary behind it is a perfect hiding place for *****, badly made catapults at the ready.. waiting for an unsuspecting passerby.
The Long walk, stretching from the age old copper horse to the magnificent windsor castle is usually ridden with mckenzie, hackett and nickelson. Last time i was walking along that road i was told i should probably turn around and walk back as there had been a pre arranged fight between 20 ***** and a few eton school boys. needless to say who won.
My beloved skate park was my hideaway for a few years. until they found that too. Now its the focal point for drug dealings, thefts, hiding places for the last theft they have just that hour commited.. it is strategically placed behind a police station, but these ***** are smarter than we are led to beleive.. they throw stones at the CCTV cameras in hopes that the police will not see the bloody mess of a local skate park user quivering behind them.
Windsor slowly descended into a western town. Walk in and mention the names of one or two of the biggest **** families in windsor or dedworth (no names mentioned for fear of life) and the whole town would go silent.. except for the mind numbing **** of drum bass seeping from a passing souped-up vauxhall nova.. and his herd of followers.
