The whole of Bellingham estate is crawling with ***** and the lowest of low life **** who loiter on street corners or outside popular ****’s council house now that loopy-log park is no more. For a special treat they may venture to the Savacentre via their hairdryer engine bikes. They will lurk outside trying to look as mean as possible peering over the top of their crusty never-been-washed scarves.
Older ***** will visit the Tigers Head pub where every day of the week you can enjoy a couple of fights, a police raid, numerous flashes of boob (it is the only way the poor cows know how to pull a man and the only kind of signal the male **** will respond to) and don’t forget a kebab for the journey home.
The typical Bellinham **** family will certainly call at least one child Wxxxxx – I say ‘at least’ because there are so many kids per family that it has been known for the same name to be used more than once. A family I know of (notice the emphasis on ‘of’ as I don’t actually know them) is made up of daddy-**** called Zxxxx, girl-**** called Xxxxxxx and the youngest boy-**** Yxxxxxxx junior (Yxx for short), true story.
These **** of the earth families aspire to living in Downham or Catford which are equally as infected with the smell of sour milk, tracksuits and pink pushchairs. Downham ***** pretend they live in Bromley (goodness knows why) and the posher ***** (formerly known as Bromley boys and gilrs) live in Bromley South, where they can be nearer their favourite shops like the new Primark Superstore (opening soon) and they have a choice of two Mc Donalds! The poorer Bellingham ***** have to make do with visiting Bromley at weekends, and believe me they do, filling the The Bell and the Weatherspoons to the brim.
