Posted by Anonymous & filed under Lancashire, North West, United Kingdom.

Accrington: The bus rider’s nightmare.

I know a couple of other people have made posts about Accrington, but I thought I’d add some aspects which haven’t been mentioned.

Being stuck in the town because of work commitments, I envy people who say they used to live here but moved away, and can laughingly give a loveable account after they came back for a visit. hey, I still live here, and yes, I know it has gotten worse.

The town worsens by the day, particularly because there are a worrying amount of scumbags who have been sent here because they have been “barred” from other towns. There is a charity based in accrington which helps out distressed chavs (I kid you not), and chavs from far and wide relocate to Accrington to sponge as much as they can off this charity. The charity can help out financially, as well as providing free food and clothes.

Something scary is happening with the chavs in Accrington, the genepool sems to be getting smaller and smaller. Three weeks running, I have been going about my daily business only to be hassled for a great length of time by some s**t -for-brains chav. Each one bore a remarkable similarity to the last, although it was clear that they were not blood related. They are just morphing into the same fooking person. I think, somewhere in Accy, there is a big house where chavs are being produced. Some kind of factory.

The Hyndburn Circular bus, which is a travelling Chav box and takes in the delights of Rishton (Euurgh), Clayton-Le-Moors (chav city), Accrington (just f**king weird), Oswaldtwistle (land of the kiddie chav) and Blackburn (chavs attracted by the “bright lights”) has to be seen to be believed. Never does a journey pass without:

(a) Older chavs sitting on the back seat and swearing at everyone who gets on the bus.
(b) Chavettes taking up all the seats with their prams.
(c) A rockport/bus ticket/baby chav hitting your head
(d) Chav kids spraying each other with their fake perfume. After this experience, I got off the bus smelling like a f**king toilet duck factory.
(e) A chav with the most horrendous ringtone on its phone. Usually rings at a piercing volume. Usually “Barbie Girl”, or something equally distasteful. On a very busy bus, said chav answers phone very very loudly with those infamous words “I’M ON BUS LIKE WERE ARE YA?”. Then swears a lot and tries to explain to other chav on other end of phone that he is on a bus. For ten minutes. then battery dies and chav asks random stranger “YER GOT ENY CREDIT LIKE ME FONES FOOKED”
(f) The chav who decides that’s it’s a good idea to cough up all his lung butter on the back seat in the morning. One day son, if I ever come across you when I am feeling big and hard, I am going to make you drink my vomit until it kills you.
(g) This happens so frequently it scares me. On the Hyndburn Circular, almost EVERY DAY a big chav gets on and tries to pay half. Said chav is usually with chavette, chavette uses quite a lot of swearwords when poor driver asks them both for date of birth. When both chavs give a year that implies that they are 22 and 20 respectiely, the bus driver states that they have to pay full fair, chavette then states that he has “got this fing, like dis condition where he can’t remember years and stuff”…. Ah, I see. Idiot syndrome.

Just writing this makes me feel nauseous about the place I live. Half of the tme I walk through the town and feel as if an alien civilisation has landed, kidnapped all the normal people and replaced them with these prototype humans, people devoid of soul, thought and life.

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Posted by Anonymous & filed under Lancashire, North West, United Kingdom.

Known to most people only because of a football team and an old milk advert featuring a couple of Scouse kids, the once thriving Lancashire mill town of Accrington is now, quite frankly, a chav-ridden wasteland. For a town of just over 30,000 people, it has a disproportionate number of dodgy areas: Lower Antley, Fern Gore, Rothwell Ave, Meadoway and Spring Hill (to name but a few) are dotted all around the town, meaning that nowhere in Accy can you live a safe distance from thieving, dole-scrounging wasters. Oh, and not forgetting the Huncoat estate, which is so grim that when a load of pikeys arrived there a few years ago, even they couldn’t find anything worth nicking.

The town centre, despite the council’s best efforts to spruce it up, just illustrates the chav population’s descent into total lack of sophistication and taste. Until a decade or so ago, it had an interesting array of mainly independent local shops, but one by one, these have almost all closed down and been replaced by the likes of Poundstretcher, Matalan, TK Maxx, Argos and Wilko’s. Particularly popular are the ‘everything for 99p’ type shops. Despite frequenting these emporiums of utter tat on a daily basis, the locals still haven’t grasped the simple concept of them – they can often be heard asking the assistants “‘Ey up, ‘ow much is this then?”

As far as food goes, all of the chav’s favourite eateries and supermarkets are of course present: McDonalds, KFC, Lidl, Netto, Aldi and Iceland are all doing a roaring trade. Woe betide anyone who opens an Italian or Indian restaurant in Accy – they soon find to their cost that the locals don’t want any of that “foreign muck”.

The same is true when it comes to drinking: the interesting old boozers have practically all disappeared, and in their place are theme bars serving watered-down lager to Burberry-clad youths, who are frantically trying to down enough of it to build up their Dutch courage for the inevitable fight at Lar-de-Dars nightclub (“Lardys”) later in the evening.

In fact, there’s so much booze-related violence in Accy that it was the first town in the country where drinking alcohol in the street was outlawed. The town centre boasts special signs with a picture of a pint glass inside a red triangle. Not that anyone takes any notice of them, as the blood and vomit to be found in the streets most mornings will testify.

Accy is also notable for the sheer stupidity of its chav criminals. The same names appear time and time again in the crime columns of the local rag, caught and convicted over and over again for the same type of offences. In one recent case, a local Einstein was caught stealing an old biddy’s handbag just TWENTY MINUTES after being released from prison, having served a sentence for theft. Back he went for another few months…

On the plus side, Accrington must be one of the last places in the UK where you can still buy a house for under £20,000. Buy one as an investment, insure it to the hilt, let it out to DSS tenants, they’ll eventually do a runner, the local chavs will torch it, and you’ll be laughing all the way to the bank. Just don’t EVER consider living there.