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Archive for the ‘Wales’ Category

Cardiff, Rumney

This article has: 3 Comments

Since i was about 13, chavs have destroyed the neighbourhood that i grew up in. I grew up in Harris Avenue, Rumney, Cardiff.

What once was a normal street, with green trees, and a park to the back of the house, with kids playing has turned into a refuge of chav scum, with the only solution being battery acid and / or a shotgun to their faces.

Every single day, chavs are outside the park, “dissin me nan” and everyone else going past. They ride their dirt bikes up and down the park daily, especially in the summer.

The police are scared to even go down the street, the attitude problems have got so bad, that the only way to escape is to sell up, and move to a smaller house in a better area, if you can afford to.

Some misinformed people think that chavs are just normal working class people, who are demonised. WRONG. i am working class, proud of it, but you dont see me going around, beating women up, shouting at people randomly, taking drugs or driving cars and bikes down the street at 80mph.

the only solution is to lock these bastards away.

By: Gary E

Barry Town – What’s left of it

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Ok so you have seen Gavin and Stacey? heard what a lovely seaside resort? YOU HEARD WRONG.

I have lived here all my life and it isn’t the same place it used to be. These days it’s full of smack heads, speed freaks and the new popular drug – Fert.

Nobody cares about having jobs anymore the new generation thinks its more fun to either spit out kids and get pissed or use their dole to get off their face on drugs. More  little s**ts growing up robbing houses and peoples cars and where as a lot of people have grown up with no fathers they have no “man morals” and think it’s ok to punch a girl straight in the face for looking at them wrong.

Barry town is full of gobby, free loading, “i’m hard” arse holes that need to get a grip, get a f*****g job and stop spitting out kids by different men.

Yes there are a few  decent hard working people in Barry but these just get robbed by the other dirty little tramps living here.

Sea side resort? yeah young girls and boys walking around drunk starting on people that are trying to have a nice time. Everyone here seems as if they have to prove something and thinks it’s cool to be a bum getting off their trollies day and night. The new generation here are jokes. Barry has now turned into a joke… sad to say but its true.

By: Kelz

Caerphilly County Burough

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Caerphilly Central Town – Going to town in caerphilly can be a risky game if you were to bump into some scumbag who would have the audacity to start giving you trouble for no reason, it may seem like a nice place to go shopping on a saturday, but saturday nights can be a good time to avoid the town

Landsbury Park (a few blocks away from town) - Landsbury is the land of the lost, drunk, drugged up anti-socials and stinking attutudes, if you manage to find someone well mannered in Landsbury park you may also want to try your luck with the lottery, people there will take the piss out of you, give you attutude and push their way into your life to make it a living hell many landsbury chavs will assault you if they fear you are not a lansbury local like them, even if you only live across the road, you may be challenged if you are new to them.

Penrhroel – flooded with drugs, getting it is as easy as going to the shop, if they are unable to gain possesion, chances are the drug market is going downhill throughout the UK, some people in penrhoel can be respectful, other common penrhoel chav’s help make the place look untidy, the top shop is their little hang out spot, flooded with anti-social drug addict that would gladly take advantage of your vulnerable presence. Penrhoel is almost as bad as landsbury park in circumstances.

Merthyr Tydfil – Gurnos Estate is a well known s**t hole, you’re wheels will be removed from your car if you are to park it anywhere near Merthyr or Gurnos estate, you’ll probably have your shoes taken off you if you stand in the same place for too long.

Bargoed – Typical chav pissup town

Phillipstown (New Tradegar) – replica of landsbury park

Many more

By: Traumatised

Holywell, Flintshire

This article has: 50 Comments

Residing on the banks of the Dee Estuary, which marks the extent to which its pseudo- scouse populace could swim, Holywell is an ecclectic mix of sub cultures. It’s hub is an interbred community from the Strand estate, who would claim that their roots stem back to the ancient Druids. The truth is that their ‘four- fathers’ were able to make it that extra mile from the Liverpool overspills such as Birkenhead and Ellesmere Port. This explains their strange dialect. Combined with its local mining heritage, which was the last time Holywell’s inhabitants did any hard work, the inhabitants of the Trogloditic sub culture from the hills above Pantasaph, Rhes-y-cae et al, made the migration south to breed. This can be seen each evening after dark, as torches are lit and voices in doorways hush to a whisper. The overriding rule in Holywell is- ‘Dont look at anyone wrong and you’ll survive the night’. The local Holywell High school has served for many years as a dating agency for hill-dwellers and chavs alike, resulting in a less-than-satisfactory experiment in human relations. Those who received a c grade and above in their GCSE’s were able to make it into one of various industrial units scattered along the coastline, begrudgingly close to the English border. Others weren’t so lucky, being relegated to farming; never to be seen again. There is only ONE sport in Holywell- Thai boxing, which the town has embraced with open arms and webbed fingers. Fiercely competitive, the town’s inhabitants would maintain the assertion that Thai boxing did in fact start in Wales, mainly due to the fact that all the inhabitants know the one instructor in town and at some point in the past, they; their big brother; their little brother or some other inbred member of their family took a lesson. The single street smear of a town centre is punctuated by estate agents displaying the same houses that have been over-priced and out of reach for generations, which sit conveniently out of town and serve only to fill the populace with dispondency and to give them a reason to live, in the vain hope that when they retire from British Aerospace, or with a lottery win, they too could raise themselves from the pit of despair. Combined with the charity shops and the hair-dressing salons, it is the whole reason that Holywell closes on a Saturday and witnesses a migration to civilization. By night, Holywell becomes a positive plethora of violence, drunkeness and crime, to rival any other major town. The local pubs have an inclusion policy of, ‘If you’re local and your face fits, we may serve you…’. The punters however are somewhat more discerning and unless you’ve been to work with their father, ore ARE their father, you better drink up fast, or pick a window…cos you’re leaving! Modern culture hs been embraced by the local inhabitants, who now enjoy a Wetherspoons restaurant in town. The safest time to convene would be during daylight hours and probably lunchtime, if you want to hold a conversation in English. Otherwise, spice up your night by strolling in casually and ordering in a loud English voice. This is bound to have an effect as, despite the inhabitants having dropped Welsh lessons in high school, in favour of basic car mechanics, they stick staunchly to their Wild West Wales image and each and every woolly-back/plastic scouser in the place will gladly loosen a few teeth for you for loking at them wrongly. The highlight of the Holywell week of course, is a trip to the ‘Vic’ hotel, at the top of the high street. There are more lifeforms in there than Mos Eisely cantina, in Star Wars. If you look carefully, you will see that there are two main types- those in wellies and those without. All the local Pubwatch and ASBO celebrities are there; the boys with freshly shaven heads and sporting their best jeans, comparing electronic tags. Similarly, with fewer shaven heads but with numerous boxers’ noses, the girls gather in the shortest skirts, barely disguising the puppy fat and cellulite, dancing round their knock-off handbags and eyeing up the opposition, in a bid to catch the eye of anyone who they havent already shagged in the bus stop/smoking area outside, or anyone who theyre not already related to. By day, these beauties can be found working in the plethora of hairdressing salons in town, which is useful as, by night, they can be found bitching about each other and tearing each other’s hair out. Those unlucky few who are, as yet, too pre- pubescent to enter the Octagon of this dating circle, can skulk menacingly across the road by the Spar shop, glaring at passers-by, or feel free to fail embarassingly easy tricks on their stolen JD Bug scooters in the nearby Lidl car park; dreaming that one day, when they are released from prison, they can join the rest of their inbred family indoors. As a treat to round off the night, its a precarious stroll down to the other end of the high street; the women in towering heels, which dont work after midnight. The men following at a respectful distance, to avoid and misconceptions about gentlemanly conduct, or sentiment. The goal is the one greasy kebab house which hasnt been investigated by the HSE and still serves late at night despite the threat to its windows and abuse on its staff. Despte appearances, the Greeks staffing the shop are in fact spray-tanned plastic scousers who, as well as not speaking Wesh, also dont speak Greek. Taxi’s home are a rarity, especially if you order in English and your name isnt Dai. Luckily, if you’ve ordered your kebab loudly with an English accent, you are assured a lift in an emergency vehicle to the nearby Glan Clwyd hospital.

By: Dai

Swansea s**tty City

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Swansea s**tty city….has lovely coastal areas and beaches…shame about the rest which includes the football hooligan racist culture and small minds womanizers, working for the weekend type of night life that is filled to the brim with orange tanned short skirt, false nails and eye lashes wearing bintola’s that think of nothing more than their image….then you have the other culture which pretty much have given up on life…live in the job centre trying to blag more money for nothing off the tax payer for more heroin. very sad times in swansea right now…and job prospects are nil and void..unless you want to work in a rip off sales call centre or some s**tty bar or cafe burger flipping greasy spoon shop.

By: sarah