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Crook- Abandon hope all ye who enter

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I can’t believe Bishop got in and not a word about Crook.

Crook Vegas as it is affectionately referred to is a bleak s**t hole somewhere in County Durham. Pram faced locals descend on the town centre to visit Greggs, Peters or shoplift wares from the ‘Original’ Factory Shop. Many of them reside in the delightful and scenic ‘Gaza Strip’. At weekends the streets are patrolled by rabid, white lightening consuming gangs, many of whom have taken to wearing flat caps and rigger boots and calling themselves the CTC or Crook Town Casuals, perhaps the Crook Town c**ts would be more appropriate, or just c**ts for short. These youths urinate in a phone box and boot footballs up and down the street, a highlight is going ’up the back of the doctors’ for a few cans or visiting Ronnies video shop for some kets. Countryside sports such as lamping are popular, along with shooting tramps and burying their remains at local sites of natural beauty such as Kitty’s Wood. The town boasts a scenic picnic area, which doubles as a dogging venue, trees by day, a fat lass’ arse pressed against the windscreen of a rusty Ford Escort by night.

There are few shops, however it has numerous take away outlets and a surprising number of pubs. The Crown or Fraggle Rock is particularly lively on giro day. Standing proudly is the council building or pagoda, the vision was a modern and Japanese influenced stylish administrative centre for the now defunct Wear Valley Council, sadly it looks like a pile of s**t, designed in lego by a retarded pre-school child.  The main street, laughably called Hope Street (no f**king hope more like) may well boast the highest concentration of betting shops in a 20 yard radius. Again, giro day is a busy period. Tanning shops help the women over 40 to maintain a healthy orange glow, with skin the texture of dry, cracked leather. They are easy to identify clacking down the street in 80s stilettos like a group of angry velociraptors.

Economic activity in the town is somewhat limited, although the local ‘fag houses’ stocking a wide range of snide, foreign smokes appear to have combatted the recession effectively. The once weekly market also thrives, particularly the 2 stripe tracky bottom stall and the jeweller does a roaring trade as locals trade in their Elizabeth Duke in time for the man from the provy or shopacheck to collect the next instalment of the substantial debt racked up purchasing a 50″ plasma screen to view Jeremy Kyle or buying there foul-mouthed toddler a Playstation 3.

Genuine citizens need no explanation as to the true identity of the Cheif, Tennis Man or Radio Roo. They refer to places as what used to be… for example the aforementioned Factory Shop- what used to be Presto, Crazy Jakes- what used to be Bob’s Bargain Centre or BBC (a sadly mourned local resource that proudly displayed its range of sex toys and hardcore porn amongst the household cleaning products) and so on and so forth.

Another key local event is Thursday noght Family Planning Clinic, attendance is not advised for the over 15s, as they may be intimidated by the ferral hoards of 14 year olds in tracksuits vociferously demanding clap tests. Since the sad demise of the Rainflower Arcade or ‘Chongers’ there is little in the way of entertainment, perhaps explaining the high teen birth rate and demand on council dwellings.


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What can I say? It’s a s**thole, but it’s home! As a boy of very young I remember no fake tartans, 12 year old mums and more then half of what s**te goes on now.

Too small for a town and too big for a village, recently wasted money on the two most pointless things the town needed. The Pedestrianisation of the Town Centre, which sees bus stops change more then my underwear.. And the all new “Through-A-Bout” bollock which is supposed to ease congestion, but what it really did was tore up a perfectly good bike path and old railway route and made the route home from town take half an hour instead of 10 minutes. But then again.. That bike path was a chav-infested haven.. I now have a slight respect for the council!

I will start with the outskirts of the town and work inwards. Starting with Haughton/Whinfield/Springfield/Harrogate Hill and tall those areas nearby.. s**thole. Done. Nahh.. Has Asda in this bit and what is said to be the best target for bombs.. The Shuttle & Loom. Formerly a chav infested pub with watered down beer (which can only be described as piss.. which wouldn’t surprise me if it was!) and a yellow wall. Now recently gone through a restoration which has got rid of the yellow wall but will most definately have the other two still there! This area has some quaint streets, but they are all nestled within the finest brick-looking cardboard boxes I’ve seen! Council Estates.. Filled with dole wallers, underage parents, inter-breds and.. Well any other words for chavs you can think of.

I would go on about other areas but I’d just be repeating myself. So here’s a list of places to avoid (unless you want to get stabbed).. Darlington. Hahaa.. Nahh.. Skerne Park, Firth Moor, Eastbourne, Haughton (near St. Andrews, Church) Red Hall, please add if I’ve missed off.

To the town! During the day it’s an alright place. This is when normal people dilute the arsewipes so all seems like a good place to be, apart from the constant not moving of others and the battering from pushchairs you get. Token arguments between chavs of “who f**king gets to f**king hold the f**king fiver they’ve found on the f**king floor” are there as a form of offensive street performers (DON’T PAY THEM!) and, above all else, the shops aren’t the best there could be. With rent up loads are closing down quicker then they went up (what was that nice shop with a bit of tat you thought of buying but left to get money out has now shut down now you’re back). Then the 4-hour 5:30 block comes where town gets quiet, college students stop laughing at cracks in the floor while quoting ‘RANDOM’ at everything they see and go home, chavs get sick because they can’t find “anymore f**king fivers on the f**king floor” and go home, the Job Centre shuts so the dole wallers go home to their council estates, the Post Office shuts so the oldies can no longer get their pension ’til tomorrow and the shops shut.

After said block, the night begins. Avoid Tanner’s, Retro (formerly Flares, chavs think they know all the songs because they’ve heard them remixed into a god awful song and the elders start trying to be hip.. In fact if these weren’t in this club there would be three people and the staff), Yate’s, Barracuda.. In fact avoid ALL of Skinnergate at night (and day).

So we start in the latest Wetherspoons, The William Stead (Steadie’s). Nice. Spoonies priced drinks and not at all rough as f**k. Next door is 10 Crown Street who do a belting Cosmopolitan, never been during the day but night time is cool. A long way up (opposite Joe Rigs) is Number 22, a real ale pub filled with oldies who love folk music and singing with fingers in their ears, slightly expensive for a drink, but is great for a pint.

Going back into town is Scene, what used to be Bacchaus, filled with goths/moshers/emos/scene kids/confused people who arent quite chav and arent quite moshers (or “boggers” if we turn back the clock a few years). An alright place with reasonable priced drinks and long hair.

Next door is Inside Out (formerly Club 2K, a chav as f**k club), now a place a chav can rarely be seen. Run of the mill nightclub playing 3 rooms of music, each of which a good choice.

But, I know what you’re thinking.. WHAT ABOUT THE ONLY CLUB IN DARLO?!.. Escapades, Spades.. Whatever you want to call it. It’s s**t. Waste of mortar and bricks and where chavs go when they’ve had a barny with the 2 year old missus and go to pick up another underager. Plays s**t, serves s**t and the mental age+IQ is about as equal to what the capacity is.

Maybe Darlo Boro Council should save up money, one to fix the road which have more holes then Swiss Cheese, but second to rip down Spades and the council estates/chav areas, and then invest in shooting each and every chav in Darlington and bring the population down from 100,000 down to about 3,000.

Oh, and avoid Morton Park from about 4:30 as it gets busy and the boy racers and their latest features (include state-of-the-art back seat warmer, who is no more then a run-of-the-mill 6 year old chav lass) do the worst driving round Maccy D’s car park. Go here if you want easy money (park up, eat a BigMac meal, then wait for one of them to hit your car, get the plate number as they will drive off/do a pegger, and claim on the insurance). Then again, insurance and chavs don’t go together so it may not work your way.


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There are several things that make chester-le-street great and here are some of the main historical things that have happened in chester-le-street over its vast history.The town was orinally called Concangis back in the days of the romans when it was first settled but eventually people saw the light around the year 700 and realised Chester-le-Street was a much better name for the place. One of our main claims to fame here in Chester is that St Cuthbert was buerried at The Parish Church of St Mary and St Cuthbert. He was there for 113 years before being stolen from us and moved to Durham Cathedral . It was also the site of the first translation of the Bible into English. We also have a proud sporting heritage. An early version of football was once played in the town. The game was played until 1932 between the “Upstreeters” and “Downstreeters”. Play started at 1pm and finished at 6pm. To start the game, the ball was thrown from the Queen’s Head hotel in the centre of the town and in one game more than 400 players took part. The centre of the street was the dividing line and the winner was the side where the ball was (Up or Down) at 6pm. The game was finally stopped in 1932, when a number of players were fined under the Highways Act for obstructing the highways and causing an annoyance to pedestrians.
So thats it, the history of the town pretty much summed up. But who cares, that is how people outside look in. This is how we know Chester-le-Street…

You know you’re from Chester-le-street when…
• You went for your first drink aged 14 in one of its vast assortments of “pubs”
• You have spoken to the colonel/the gentleman at least once and have spent many a drunken night in awe at his complete upright posture
• You have committed at least one criminal offence
• You have or know someone who has stolen sweets from woolies (RIP) or longs and then sold them on for cheap at school
• You went to Hermitage or Park View and hated the other with a strong passion
• You know who “bellend haircut woman” and Christine Donaldson are and are terrified by them
• At some point you have hade a tanoy announcement made telling you to get out of the kids rides/stop terrorising old ladies in St. Cuthbert’s Walk and found it hilarious
• You remember the infamous sticky carpet at Crocs before it became Gravity and Crox
• You were regularly told as a child about ST Cuthbert being buried in Chester at some point in our town’s great past and you couldn’t really give a s**t
• If people ask where you are from you reply with Chester (pronounced Chesta) and then have to spend the next 20 mins explaining its a s**tty little town that is near Newcastle/Sunderland/Durham and not that crap place where hollyoaks is filmed
• You never know exactly which city is closest to you out of Durham, Sunderland and Newcastle
• You still never managed to work out the difference between the 21, 21A and 21B (unless you lived in a place where one didn’t go)
• You went drinking white lightning down Chesta Park/North Lodge Park and were at some point chased off the “Bizzies” and if unlucky enough to be too pissed to run you had your name taken and if even more unlucky you got taken home
• You always wondered how many times you could get your name taken for drinking in either park before anything happened and still haven’t found out.
• You remember the Wine Cellar (which is now something pointless) and their ID policy: over 10 – no questions asked and greatly thank them for aiding your underage drunken antics.
• You were scared to walk past that big old building on the right hand side of the road past the top of the front steet because apparently it was a mental hospital with child killing psychopaths living there
• The Lambton Arms will always be called Huxters and it is now completely s**te since it has been done out
• The overpriced drinks in Huxters and Studio never cease to amaze you and every time you go you make a mental note never to go back but always forget
• You pride yourself knowing that in the 800m or so that makes up “The Street” there are at least 17 Pubs, Clubs and Working Mans Clubs so you are never anymore than an average of 50m or so away from the next drink
• You’ve never actually been to the Market Tavern, Ye Olde Miners Lampe (now The Bridge) or The Butchers Arms.
• You wonder why there are 8 or so bakers on the street and then realise as you pass a 14 yr old chav mam stuffing another Greggs pasty into her “Pastie-Baby’s” hands that they are there to provide vital nurishment to the children of chesta
• On every night out the same argument crops up: where is the best take away, Ceaser’s Kitchen, Figaro’s, Bridge End or The Golden Chippy and you can never come to an agreement but do decide that Brenda’s “Fish Bar” is by far the worst
• You’ve had a slushy from Citrone’s and even ventured inside for some deep fried grease with more grease once or twice
• Lunches at school consisted of Ceaser’s Meal deals, A chip cone from Clem’s or something completely random and stupid from Tesco (or the Co-op before Tesco opened)
• You know why the nets are on the roof of the buildings next to Clems and its not to keep the pigeons off –it’s actually because someone climbed up there once and caused mayhem to all of the 3 people on the front street that day.
• On a morning you would try to persuade a bus driver you were under 14 to get on for a half, that same night (sometimes still in uniform) you would be off down the wine cellar pretending to be over 18 to get some White s**te
• With the exception of the Dreamscape thing taking off, nothing of any real interest has ever actually happened in Chester and probably never will
• You’ve nearly been ran over running across the 167 because you simply couldn’t be arsed to walk the extra 30ft to go over the foot bridge
• Christmas eve is spent down the street and not with family
• The bald man who talks to himself and tries to sell random knocked off goods on the street scares the s**t out of you
• You know everyone who lives in Chester – everyone is related, known through school or because they had a fight with someone
• You know that the card shop in St Cuthbert’s walk is owned by Bryan Robson’s brother
• You’ve eaten in Da Vincis and still don’t see what all the fuss is about
• You sometimes call Chester “Chester-le-s**t because although it is home, its a bit scruffy and fairly wank
• Chester is famous for a few things: Pubs, Teenage pregnancies, chavs, pasty babies, charity shops, a massive unemployed population and having the highest rates of heart disease In Europe (mainly because of citrone’s and Clems).
• You know all of these things and when explaining to someone that you live in a small town somewhere between Durham, Sunderland and Newcastle you insert random selections of them into conversation to prove that Chester is better than the s**t hole they live in!!!
• You consider anyone from any further south then Scotch Corner as a Southerner and think anyone north of Gosforth might as well be Scotish
• Urban renewal or building redevelopment consists of 3 vital steps – 1). An arson attack, 2). The demolition of the remaining burnt out shell, 3). A new bar is built in place of what was once there
• You could have won on who wants to be a millionaire when the question “where does durham county cricket club play their home games?” came up as the million pond question. Of course the answer is chester-le-street
• you have been drunk and disorderly on the night bus home from town (sunderland, newcastle, durham, wherever) as you didnt fancy spending ££££ on a taxi

Wall Suggestions
• At some point you have had to run in fear for you life from either Pikery or Ginger Joe – or a combination of the two
• f**k the metro centre – you know that the best shopping centre in europe is Chesters very own InShops. Where else can you buy a carpet, get flashy lights for your phone and be repulsed by the smell of raw fish all at once
• you regularly experience the traffic james caused by the old man wearing a high vis jacket on his bicycle making his daily expedition from Chester to the shipyards in town
• The happy shopper will always be the happy shopper (regardless of current name) and will always have a special place in your heart as being the place to buy alcohol (whilst still underage) once the wine cellar had been shut down
• The lights from the town christmas tree were removed in fear of them being stolen
• You are regularly molestered by chavs asking for 20p for their bus or to “lend” a tab with no intention of returning the tab taken at a later date
• You now know what the rubble between The Market Tavern and Tesco’s used to be – it was a cinema (and later a bingo hall) that was destroyed by an arson attack and no-one over was quite arsed to rebild it.

Newton Aycliffe – regional chav capital

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Newton Aycliffe is pretty much unknown nationally, but within the North East of England, it is known as a land of milk & honey for Chav folk. Walk through the historically important town centre designed & constructed using s**te building materials in the 1960′s & twinned with Beruit, Soweto & Hell, chavs immediatley feel at home.
A lovely array of different shops & services inc. Greggs the bakers to quickly feed a chav brood (family unit.) Also a large range of furniture & large telly’s & washing machines at Brighthouse with no scary credit checks very popular with chavs in Aycliffe. Very amusing when you see a Keith Miller lookalike arguing with staff because he’s about to have his sofa or tv repossesed. However very useful for furnishing a proud chav’s council house. Also Argos is an important landmark for the chav community as they supply very imortant jewellery.
Thames shopping centre (good name as we are only 300 miles from the River Thames) is a good place to go if you’ve got f**k all to do, & if you like the smell of bad breath, sweaty arses & old ladies. 
If you’re in need of refreshment then call into Blakes public house – during the afternoon full of OAP & middle-aged chavs standing outside smoking their rollies. On a weekend the spectrum of customers expands to incude fat arsed young lasses (who also like to frequent Betty’s fish shop.) Also  pimple faced young men who then think that they are Rocky Balboa after a few pints. Also watch as fat arsed chavette girls fall out of Blakes, flashing their floppy breasts & falling into the kebab shop or takeaway. 
We also have a large selection of charity shops to suit the more financially challenged chav folk.
Be amazed at the sight of inbred young men in s**tty Vauxhall corsa’s & clapped out Astra’s with cooling tower sized exhausts fitted & go faster stripes & spoilers. Feel the power as these chav drivers rev their engines to the limit & their dickhead mates  on offroad motorbikes & mini motos attempt to be glorious chav stuntmen pulling wheelies & doing s**te burnouts. Watch them crash & burn as the coppers seize their crappy bikes, the look of total anguish on their faces as their prized bikes are taken away.
The same people will strut their stuff in Aycliffe town centre if it’s warm & sunny (not very often) & the shirts come off revealing Beckham style tattoos, muscle beach in California wouldn’t get a look in. Be overwhelmed by scruffy,multi fathered little child urchins who Fagan would be proud of.
Aycliffe is full of atmosphere especially when the local sewage works f**ks up & you can smell s**te everywhere coupled with the smell of piss from old chavs on invaild scooters it’s a real heady mix.
If you are a chav, then Newton Aycliffe is a town of opportunities where the sky is the lmit.

Newton Aycliffe

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For no other reason than it is Newton Aycliffe. Popular CHAV haunts include ARGOS, GREEGS and anywhere near the DANDY CART pub. Its full of thick pigs, whose highlight of the week include getting on the number 15 and flocking in droves to BOYES dept store in Darlo and whipering outside M&S crying and wishing they could afford to shop there.

Dirty downtrodden dump of a town and has equal appeal to having a tumor

Bloody s**t Hole, that makes Spennymoor look glitzy!