Didcot has a rich heritage revolving around railways and the golden age of steam. Sadly though, Didcot does not immediately evoke happy memories of trundling along the traintracks as your engine gathers pace. Instead it’s a foul excrescence of a town that seems trapped in a time-bubble that began on the 31st of December 1969 and never got past the 31st December 1979.
Dystopic, like the living embodiment of the satirical “Scarfolk” website brought to life. As soon as you alight at the Train Station you’re met with a crumbling shambolic wasteland of poorly maintained buildings, racist graffiti and discarded drug paraphernalia.
The town’s “cultural centre” revolves around possibly the most charmless ****-filled shopping precinct where trendy high-street stores rub shoulders uncomfortably with pound shops, Greggs bakeries and vape stores.
With the vast chimneys of the nearby power station still looming like the broken f*cked teeth of some once majestic predator, Didcot has recently become famous for a house being listed on an Estate Agent’s website, complete with vast wall mural of Nick Griffin – which really just about sums the place up.
If you want the longest, drawn-out death possible, move to Didcot – living proof that nothing built by man can be in possession of a soul.
