Not the archetypal ****-ville, here in deepest darkest Lincolnshire but well on the way. **** HQ is now the Drove end of town where they vie for power with the spliff and smack heads. Sleaford ***** favour bikes far too small for themselves and sport off-white baseball caps (only the tribal leaders can pretend to burberry). Most often found: outside Flicks night club and the market cross, littering the pavement and poisoning the air with ‘oi, my mate could ‘av you’, before organising a 10-1 on some poor sod who then ends up in lincoln county hospital.
