London? Is that you?

If I was trying to take the sense of decency out of a place I’d call it something that sounded a bit like the word “minge” was being sick. It would sound something like Penge. I went to Penge in South London the other day, it was rubbish. Here are some pictures. 

This is nice, isn’t it? The apology particularly. “Sorry no travelers”. It’s like: “Sorry we’re racist and still upholding a Nazi policy sixty four years after the defeat of the Third Reich, but we just can’t let your fiddle playing and tarot-reading interrupt our Sky Sports marathon.” Well done Catherine Williams. This is the first pub you see when you step off the platform at Anerley and I imagine it does fairly good business. I mean, there’s pool, there’s sports TV, there’s even a happy hour; imagine how happy all those racists must get. It is nice of them to use an energy saving bulb though.

I found this memorial garden on one of the estates near Penge. Now, say what you will about organised religion, but when it comes to commemorating the dead, Catholicism, Islam, Judaism and Hinduism just can’t touch the sheer heartfelt beauty of a clogged-up shitter, surrounded by weeds, outside a 400 person council block.

Harry is a lucky man. That’s for sure. Anyone sitting on his glorious memorial bench will have an unimpeded view of some parked cars, an old toilet bowl full of soil, and a fat man in a sweaty football shirt leaning out of his 1960s pre-fab block, eating a Ginsters scotch egg.

Sibilance is so sexy, isn’t it? Living in Penge must rock, you get to stand out on your big, hard balcony, thrusting out from Ssex Tower, looking out over the erotic wonderland beneath you. Or, in this case, standing next to your kid, scowling down at a car park, with a dog shit bin in the corner, as some nosy twonk takes photos of you in her stupid fashion shoes. Still though, “Ssex Tower”, that’s pretty funny.