If one town deserves…nay, pleads to be wiped from existence, this sh*tehole is it. For the geographically challenged, Boro lies to the South of Newcastle and Sunderland, hidden by a miasma of green noxious gas, presumably produced at the Joker’s lair in Billingham. Indeed this heavy industrial fog has given rise to the generic nickname of its inhabitants. Newcastle has the Geordies, Sunderland has Mackems, Boro has Smogmonsters.
These creatures (Smoggies for short), are dragged up, in some instances merely to provide protein for the Christmas table, in dogsh*t laden streets. At night, these streets take on a personality of their own, each one more psychopathically disturbing than the last. Their uniform of eighties shell suits and grease smeared baseball caps belie the fact that this is possibly one of the coldest places in the world. On an equatorial line the same as Moscow, snow comes early but does not dissuade the ladies from even thinking about wearing extra layers of clothing as this would slow down the ability to allow anyone to get ‘fingers and tops’ for the price of chips and ‘scraps’ (a delightful culinary experience whereby the chippy scrapes the inside of his oven for pieces of batter and slops them onto your chips).
The chavette – inevitably super-fertile – reaches her breeding potential at the age of eleven. David Attenborough has been investigating what has made the females take this evolutionary step so quickly only to discover that pregnancy is the easiest was to get out of GCSEs and have their own council flat.
Boro itself consists of one main road which, should you be able to run the gauntlet of MaccyD pelting twats, will take you across the border. Here is where the real scum hang out. Prossies and machete carrying Pimps stride the streets unafraid of police interference. One delightful establishment I can heartily recommend is ‘Club Bongo International’, (no, it exists). Show them your student Union card and they will take you to their bosom… or allegedly cut you. Allegedly, the latter.
As a growing student town and a place I spent 5 years in, It can be fun if you have absolutely no intention of staying there past your student days, and venture no further than the Union bars.
I often wondered in awe at how such a place can exist in the early part of the 21st century. It is a troglodyte laden, grey, cold place. The football team went into bankruptcy in 1986 to try and get out of the place. If it was a dog, it would have been put out of its misery by now.