Per Abigo Ad Astra
(Through stealing, an Astra)
Surbiton. The quintessential suburb as portrayed in The Good Life. Now, like most of the UK, a festering nest of ***** and proles. Surbiton ***** seem to think that they live in South Central LA and many walk around feigning imaginary gunshot injuries. To be fair, these could simply be cases of rickets as a result of being bottle fed bottled choccy milk since birth. For those seeking the true **** experience of Surbiton. The newcomer should begin their visit in Somerfield’s supermarket. There you can see 16 year old **** mums stocking up on Diamond White and Mr Kipling cakes for themselves, their kids, and their grandkids. Just a few yards away is Surbiton station, where the electronic barriers are manned by burly ticket collectors who spend their entire shift hearing abuse from baseball capped oiks insisting they “lost their ticket, innit”, whilst outside the station pale faced drug addicts with hoods (CCTV, innit) peddle used Travelcards for £2. Apart from the usual McDonalds, KFC and kebab shop late-night entertainment opportunities, Corky’s Bar is also well worth a visit. For those liberal bunny huggers who think that Brazilian type death squads are not the way to deal with our errant youth, one visit to this tiny pub (sorry, “Wine Bar”) should change their minds. Here you can see what happens when our sov-ringed sons of Kappa come of age and it’s not a pretty sight.
