Situated in the a**e-end of Oxford this estate is like a c**v academy. In the shadow of the high rise tower block lies a co-op, off license and post office – all the things the aspiring c**v needs to be educated. There’s a place to try & get some fags with your fake ID, fresh stocks of chilled white lightning and plenty of old ladies to intimidate as they post their weekly letter to their own c**v son, imprisioned last year for some c**v crime or other. As it’s the nearest place to get some milk when you run out (& you can’t be arsed to go to tescos) sometime’s there’s no choice but to venture into this evil place. There are rules though – never go alone and don’t wear anything shiney..! So, the journey begins by walking past the Wood Farm bus stop…on a good day you can expect to see a drunk man covered in sick, the usual c**v mum with her spangly hair piece & wife-swap inspired fashions and (if you’re very lucky) some of the c**v lads (& their dogs) preparing to burn down the nearest speed camera. The next part’s not so bad, a few trees big enough to make you forget where you are & a little old lady mentally preparing herself for her own bus stop ordeal. Then, withough warning, the tower block peers out & you know you’ve got to be carful. A few more steps, turn right & there you are…plenty of photo opportunities of the c***s in their natural habitat. First stop is the off license, this is where most of the c***s hang around for obvious reasons…next door is the post office and, right at the end (where you want to go) is the co-op. Staffed by c***s & with c**v customers it’s a funny place to be…most trade is in fags & not much else really. Waiting in the queue to pay is an experience..! There’s guarenteed to be a pram pushing c**v mum desperate for some fags to go with her jaffa cakes…behind you is the drunk man eyeing up the whiskey. Back outside & there’s been very little activity, another little old lady frightened for her life is leaving the post office & runnning as fast as her new hip can manage.