I live about 10 minutes from this God-forsaken pit of a town and to visit it is to find yourself trapped in a **** version of ‘village of the damned’. It is surrounded by a one-way system seemingly designed to stop anybody unfortunate enough to find their way in actually escaping, rather like flies in a spiders web, although far less hygienic…
Once you are shovelled in to the high street, usually from the St.Nicholas centre, you find yourself overwhelmed by the sheer numbers of ***** and ********* shoving their pushchairs to McDonalds (I’m not lovin’ it)/TK-max/Discount Shoe Store/Matalan or any other number of delightful little stores offering ‘value for the paaaaannd’. At any time of day you are likely to find at least two or three groups of tracksuit and cap wearing ******* yelling at each other up and down the hill, with regular cries of ‘you faaaacccckkking slaaaaaag’ and ‘be’aaavve or I’ll faaaaccking slap ya’.
It is by night that the real ‘charms’ of Sutton become apparent. At any one of the nearby pubs (in particular the Litten Tree and Moon on the Hill) you can sure to be eye-balled by some Hackett-wearing gobshite for any number of reasons and set upon with his bottle of Stella. After closing time, the drunken, ***** masses head to Chicago’s or the club that used to be called ‘Zoots’ (now refurbished but undoubtedly still the same circular puke-ridden hell-hole) where the local ********* are fertilised in order to produce the next generation.
If you are lucky enough to reach the top of the hill or the outskirts of the town in general, my advice is simple: run like hell (and have a shower afterwards)…
