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Dartmouth Devon, picture postcard or chavsville?

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Most incomers as the locals call you arrive into Dartmouth via one of the River ferries where you will be met with the best kept town centre wash with art galleries and quaint unique shops, all this with Sir Aston Webbs Naval College sits grandly overlooking the beautifully set postcard image. Dare you creep up the “Hill” into Townstal then the rot starts. The locals despise anyone who earns a decent honest living, the largest employer is the benefits agency who see to all your every needs ensuring your incapacity benefit for your bipolar syndrome keeps you and your ADHD brood of different parentage in spa pasties and panda pop. They shun Sainsbury’s as they don’t sell gas and electric tokens and favour the spar shop which is burgled by the same person every month. The gene pool is rather limited with three generations of inbreeding commonplace with 5 surnames accounting for 90% of the local populace. The rare decent folks house are interspersed with social services cases generally shipped in from Plymouth or Totnes. Drugs are common place along with untaxed cars carrying 6 kids on the back seats, the kids walk to school smoking roll ups mentally preparing themselves for another day learning to write their names in the dirt with a stick in preparation for claiming benefits for bipolar whilst sending their own illiterate children to school so they can get blind drunk on white lightning whilst dreaming up more efficient ways of claiming more benefits. You will never fit in with these people unless you can decorate your garden with ornamental nappies to the annoyance of your decent hard working neighbours. A few locals will be aghast at your ability to converse intelligently with fellow humans, despising you for being happy and content. 90% of these people will live and die within a quarter of a mile of where they were born without venturing into the bright metropolis of Torbay or Plymouth.
It’s almost like deliverance in the modern world.
Enjoy Dartmouth but don’t venture up the hill! Don’t settle here unless you can afford a gin palace on the river! They don’t your fancy book learning ways ruining their lives!!

By: Mick


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How Torbay isn’t on here I don’t know, okay so Torbay isn’t technicly a town or a city but a collection of towns and villages that are kind of glued together. Torbay is made up of five or more towns the best known being (size order):

Torquay- The largest town, with all the shops, Torquay is the place the chavs and everybody else goes when they want an okayish shoppping trip but can’t be f**ked to go somewhere decent. Torquay is where the slutty female chavs gather to buy clothes and hang out, it is also the place with all the nightclubs and alcohol are and, during the night drunk and passed out chavs.

Paignton- Next largest, Paignton is where the skatepark filled with skateboarder chavs and little chav wannabes hang out. Less critical situataion than Torquay but it has paignton community college which is home to the majority of the bay’s teen pregnancies. In the various sections of paighnton there is a flux in the number of chavs depending which housing estate your in.

Brixham- fewer chavs here but still quite a few. Sometime if you wonder past the swimming pool just after school you can see 12-16 year old chavs smoking in their uniformand stuff along those lines. Thepopulation in brixham is slightly more normal but there is a clear emo/goth culture as well but in the last few years they have become less noticeable.

Churston: Small have pub and posh grammer school and yeah don’t know much bout’ Churston

Galmpton: t’s next to Churston

comment if you have anything to add



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I cannot believe tiverton is not on this list. It has more nutter and weirdos per square inch than london. Its a lovely picturesque town with nice features and lovely hanging baskets on every corner but the reality of this is that the hanging baskets are covering a few very strange smells about the town, at some times of year it smells like raw (and i mean very raw) sewage, i put this down to the unwashed, other times the odour takes on a more fishy smell, possibly the towns many slappers had their legs open at the same time.

There’s a chav on every corner, usually more than one asking for a spare fag or bus fare.  On a sunday morning any trip to the shops involves a slalom of various piles of vomit, dropped kebabs, curries etc and splatters of blood from various fights that have errupted the previous night.  On my return home from my friends one night i was walking down the road to find a massive rat dead in the middle of the road outside the local take aways, i suspect it died of food poisoning.  In short tiverton is great for an amusing visit to laugh at the local wildlife but more than a few hours stay and you will find yourself in some sort of unfortunate incident of an x files type nature.

By: moo shepherd

Torre – a place to die

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They say the devil makes work for idle hands – and the hands of Torre near Torquay are very very idle – except when distributing drugs or fighting. Whilst Torre is not the end of the line on the railway, it is the end of the line for many of it’s inhabitants.

Torre’s population is surprisingly diverse with people drifting in from Chavtowns nationwide. Do they come to breath the sea air, go fishing or take picnics on nearby Dartmoor? Perhaps they’re looking for a fresh start?

No, they come because the seaside is as far as they can get from whatever disaster they’ve left behind – whilst still being able to collect incapacity benefit - as residents of Plymouth, Dover or Hastings will testify. Paradoxically, most are ‘incapable’ of even brushing their teeth – but who’s choice is that?

When it’s not raining the rows of hotels with their exotic plants look quite attractive – but don’t be fooled! – this is just a facade to keep the council happy. A clue is the dusty ‘no vacancies’ sign glued to the window in mid-winter.

Step inside and you enter a dingy, musty dungeon peppered with the sound of sobbing, moaning and ‘dry heaving’ drifting down the stairwell - as alcholics live out the rest of their days in apparent opprobrium. One or two die each month just falling down the stairs or out of their windows. The 1970s handmade wallpaper tells of happier times before the zombies arrived.

Torre’s pubs are more lively but not in a way you would want. Take the Torre Abbey – featured on Crimewatch March 31st 2011. It makes the Queen Vic seem positively tranquil. Stay there for more than half an hour and you’ll be talking to the police – not necessarily about anything you’ve done – but whether you ‘saw’ anything.

Do you like that sinking feeling when a stranger walks up to you and says ‘I don’t like your face!” holding a snooker cue the wrong way round? Then come here. If you like a fight, you’ll get tired just ‘stepping outside’. Incidentally the cue weilding chav is now their bouncer.

Of course no Chavtown is complete without a drugs problem and torre is so awash with narcotics that dealers operate a ‘first past the post’ system to get to you. I had someone knocking on my toilet door 5 minutes after a general enquiry.

Sadly though, drugs appear not to be for partying here. The local way is to go crashing about in a family restaurant in filthy clothes at lunchtime, then spend 20 minutes remembering what a pint is - just as the police arrive.

It might be ‘grim t’north’ but it’s worse at Britain’s dangling ‘extremities’. The next day, I never felt such relief to be back in a London traffic jam.

Crediton- Devon

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I cannot believe that this sorry excuse of a town hasn’t been mentioned on here already.  With a population of around 7,000 people its no wonder they turn to a life of chavism! The town is on the outskirts of Exeter, its made up of wannabe chavs and chavettes. everyone sleeps with everyone, the women just have kids and did I mention that they seem to all sleep with their mothers, brothers, sisters etc.The worrying thing must be for the people of Exeter, cos these chavs are moving onto their patch.

Next you have the little boys with their suped up ‘Novas’ and racing around with their baseball caps on and tops off giving s**t to people as they walk by. Nothing is safe unless its nailed down and then the scum manage to still find a way to nick it. Everyone knows everyone and its like an open house invitation cos noone knocks they  just walk right in. The highlight of the week is the karaoke hosted in the swan by some fat bird who clearly needs to stop singing and start exercising.

They all seem to love fighting, but never with their hands they always hide behind weapons, or blame the 13 year old down the road.

All in all a miserable chavy run down excuse for what could be a nice place.

Oh, if you want to fit in with the ‘local chavs’ just remember to call it Kirtonville, you mightfeel more at home.