West End

There once was a man who decided to build lovely, posh brick houses. But why stop there? He said. There are lovely, posh brick houses left and right in England. And with that he decided he’d take the standard posh brick house and force it down the digestive tract of Seaside Chav Resort Southampton, England until they are all shit out stillborn and left in some fuming pile somewhere around Netto. Then he laughed a baritone laugh, imagining my face every day for the next six weeks while I lived there.

I don’t know why, but for some reason there’s some sort of difference of opinion over what Hell is. Some people have their Nam but that’s likely because they’ve never been to Portsmouth for comparison.

Where I am specifically, which is West End, is a little posh suburb right out of arms reach of both Southampton and Portsmouth. Which probably isn’t too bad, because I imagine it’s a bit like standing in the centre of a long room with your arms stretched out as you try to swipe for the litre bottles of urine sitting at either side of the corridor.

On better days, from West End you can take an hour-long bus and train journey to Gunwarf Quays which is a kind of tourist arcade on the edge of the Ocean; a little time-wasting gem in the centre of a fucking tip that hasn’t evolved since 1971. The surrounding bit of Southampton, particularly right around their university, is like Life on bloody Mars. It’s the sort of place where the blacks still can’t get the vote, and I say that in the very-most P.C. safety of italics.

Overall, West End proper wouldn’t really be too bad if it wasn’t geographically plotted out by fucking apes.

West End is what I’d imagine a gated community would be like if it were built on the shoulder of a fucking open freeway, which it appears to be! It’s a Gary, Indiana or a Coquitlam, BC. A dull, shitwater, cloudy preservation jar of a town. If you walk long enough down the road you’ll reach High Street which holds the shining, nightlife appeal of a pharmacy and a house that’s been converted into some sort of realty station. Walk a bit further to the left and you get a small library stuck on the side of a church that caters almost solely to the under-12 market. On the plus side, the night sky in West End is astounding, but that’s probably because the townspeople haven’t evolved their flame-on-a-stick technology far enough to produce actual fucking light pollution.


About DreadfulBlog
A devilish combination of slightly bored and quite hungry

One Response to West End

  1. Personally I agree about Southampton. Bit of a dive really, but Portsmouth….I love living here – in the Southsea area tbh which is just a tad nicer than the North End which is as disappointing as they come.

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