“You’ll not find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.”
Apathy can be the only reason that d’unstable has not yet appeared on your list. The place is so bad we can’t even be bothered to write about it.
It is a crossroads patrolled by arseholes.
James and Eleanor.
Consumed with bitterness.
The place was and probably still is a one-horse backwater. Here are the horrors in brief – arts and craft fairs, BNP stickers (nazi bonehead band Skrewdriver were pin-ups round these mostly white parts), violent pubs, a bus service to Luton that terminated at 7.30 pm, a Ritzy disco and the infamous Dog Kennel Walk, which ran alongside a disused railway track and was the scene of several hundred unpleasant sex attacks.
I spent most of my time dodging other kids in flat tops and shellsuits – try and imagine Grange Hill crossed with Deliverance. Claims to fame – there’s a load of dead vikings buried in the dog turd-strewn gluesniffer’s haven of Dunstable Downs. And the Clash once played a gig at Queensway Hall, which has now been knocked down in favour of an ASDA.