What’s it about?

Thirty miles and 35 years south east of London, Maidstone is the county town of Kent. Not Canterbury, with its cathedral, place in history and swanky gin bars. Maidstone, with its vape shops, rancid river and indiscriminate violence from shirtless drug addicts.

When David Brent was musing on nearby towns in The Office, he said ‘There’s nothing wrong with Maidenhead. Not Maidstone – that is a shithole.’ So even a character created to thrive in Home Counties commuter belt crapness firmly draws the line at this soulless and derelict disaster.

Any good points?

For about 40 fucking quid there’s a slow but direct train service to London Victoria, which is handy if you want to go and see Hamilton. Which nobody in Maidstone does, because racism.

There’s the aforementioned river Medway, which regularly has sewage pumped into it and saw wild swimmers projectile vomiting and hospitalised this summer.

And there’s TVS Television Centre, which used to be where Jools Holland was filmed, meaning in theory Kanye West, Adele and Metallica have nipped out for a pint at the Fox & Goose, just down the road, turn right after the big Tesco. They make Supermarket Sweep there now.

The best thing to ever happen to the town was in the 1990s, when the council commissioned a large floral sheep called Shorn. A back-and-forth of vandalism, outrage and repairs continued for five years until the folly was removed, but it’s still discussed to this day. Which goes to show just how little happens here.

Wonderful landscape?

Are you kidding? What survives of the traditional market town was been ridden roughshod over by concrete-crazed 1970s planners, detemined that big, shit office blocks and car parks would draw businesses out of London. An orgy of urban ruination followed.

Every brick of Maidstone acts as fortification to protect the picturesque hop fields and farmland to the south from the lawless depravity of Chatham, Gillingham and Rainham to the north. As such the town is like the wall Trump never built: a borderline and last frontier where Kentish men shoplift 2.5 litre bottles of Frosty Jack’s.

Hang out at?

Locals congregate outside one of three courthouses, awaiting news of friends and family, or nearby at the Wetherspoons which is knowingly named The Society Rooms.

If news from the court was bad, why not loiter outside the prison? For eight years it was the home of Reggie Kray, perhaps the town’s sanest and most upstanding resident.

For rest and relaxation, however, try the gardens next to the Carriage Museum where bone-thin drunks clutching cans of Strongbow Dark Fruit have been singing Build Me Up Buttercup on loop for the past eleven years.

Where to buy?

Anywhere else. But if your ankle tag demands you stay local then why not try taking over a network of weed dealers in the estates around Shepway or Parkwood? You’ll have a job on your hands, so maybe consider it a project.

Upmarket buyers might be tempted by Len House, a conversion of an abandoned Peugeot garage into luxury flats approved in 2020. Drawbacks include it being above a sewerage outlet into the river Len, and the developers half-demolishing the building then abandoning the site in 2021 with no intention of ever returning.

From the streets:

Martin Hollis, 47, said: “They say Kent is the Garden of England. Not Maidstone. This is more the rotting patio decking of England.”