A tree grows in slough.

The setting. The scene. The landscape. The pure passion of the community. This be not a place o’ those t’ings.dis’ be a place’ o’ woe, a place o’ imprisonment, and a place a many a car parks be built as a amusement centre for de’ tiny brained men dat’ be runnin’ around slough.
Yes it’s true, slough was a psybogenic hot-pot of boredom and plainness. Slough seemed to swallow people and entrap them into a new womb of absolute hollowness. Most o’ peoples eyes be glazed through stupidity. Some would just forget to see, and forget they had sight at all. ‘what are eyes?’ said the majority.
On a crumble ol’ farthing of an estate lived a lady, her name was Judith ‘that’s dame Judith to you’ she would say to ethnic women, and then push down on their shoulder to make them curtsy.
‘yeah that big titted bitch better keep her dirty tiny wotsit sized fingers out o my life, that sow be stuck in ways o’ o’ twenties’ said her neighbour Trina who had moved from Liverpool only 4 months ago. ‘I seez ‘er on the bus stops, waiting for Her taxi, she only books it on that area of land, so she can show everyone she has more money than us. But I’ll tells ya something, me gots a little something she don’t know’s I gots.’ At that moment Trina pulled down her off-whites, and exposed her vagina to the extreme, pulling the lips open like a sewn shut mouth.
Judith lived alone. Down from her window she would peer, playing god as it were, and sucking the energy of people by degrading anyone who walked by. This took months of a’fore hand work to do it. She would gather dark secrets of everyone who lived in the area, she would pay hundreds for these stories, and then she would wait by the window patiently, for hours just waiting for someone to pass the house, and then Trina appeared and as she crossed Judith shouted,
‘Your baby is a product of rape!’ then she would play a laugh track so loud that the tectonic plates shifted under sloughs feet.
Little did people realise that Judith was a fellow human, a fellow sister if you will, a part of the sacred feminine, and the heart of the woman who ran with nature. As a child Jude modelled herself among many people; such as Aretha Franklin, queen Elizabeth and biggie smalls in later years.
As a child Judith was taught proper manners, she was forced to learn them with a pistol in her back at the tender age of 3. When she went to Tenerife on holiday people would ask ‘Ma Ma’ where she was from, her answer would be ‘east slough’ her eyes burning as if to say ‘west is not best’. Judith’s ‘ma-ma’ was a legendary alcoholic, and would make a miniature moustache for baby Jude, forcing her to act as her gentleman caller, escorting her to bars across any destination her mother so chose. Judith got wasted every night, and would usually wake up with a dead animal under her, and carcass in her 5 year old mouth.
She had bittered with age, and now as she approached her 60th year of life she had hardened in the face of everything negative that hurt her. Yes a sister she was, but a sister she did not want to be.
She would stay in her flat for weeks on end, getting sour with her lonely life. She ordered food to be delivered to her estate, and would only order food that was approved by the conservative alliance.
‘I don’t want any monkeys to play with my food.’ she would say while at john major’s after show party 93’ in north east slough, gurgling back a British brandy and laughing smugly with the major. They would later dance the waltz to gay disco classic ‘Everybody dance now!’. Indeed, misery invites misery.
She rarely ever fingered herself, and when she did she would only tickle the rim. Both rims.
She also go to the toilet to fart, and hid her tampons in a locked box below her pistachio-esque toes. She hated having periods so at the age of 12 she decided to have her entire womb removed. ‘tis my way, or tithe highway!’ she would roar! As they carved into her pale thick belly. In retrospect she wished she hadn’t been wasted at the time.
Now she was alone, and quite literally hollow.
But Judith Tootier was ready to love…. AGAIN!!
<star trek next gen theme tune plays>

it's so weird..

that page icon is now so synonomous with those spammards. so you know. and proper paragraphs people. make it pritty

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my dad's from slough, so i can attest to this

it's not the nicest place in the world! although it did give us 'the office'

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town --
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week for half-a-crown
For twenty years,

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears,

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sports and makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

-- John Betjeman

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she's a haunted house and her windows are broken

I fucking hate even stopping at their train station on the way to London