a reflection of my time in c**v hell: Dewsbury

North EastYorkshire

I am now thinking back to a time in my life I have tried to supress with drink, drugs, relationships, work and by banging my head against the wall till i dribble, but nothing works.  It was a foul time in my personal history; the time i spent in Dewsbury and Batly, west yorkshire, surly a contender for the a******e of the universe

after finishing university i moved in with my dad into dewsbury, being short on money and ideas.  big mistake.  I soon found the residents of dewsbury had little to no time for a psudo-intellectual student ponce with a penchant for unusual clothes, hair and for sitting in hammocks all day eating soft cheese and reading.  dewsbury is:

-full of smackheads
-full of alcoholics
-where some of the london bombers come from
-where 12 year old girls get sodomised behind safeways by taxi drivers

and not my ideal hometown

being a sociable sort, thought id venture out into town.  the first night i went out with my brother to the only ‘bar’ thats left open late, had it all, surly barstaff, s**t music, someone being glassed, someone being hit by a pool cue etc.  for dancing with a girl (shock horror)  some skinny c**v came up and punched me hard as he could in the face with little to no warning.  i may be a ponce, but quite a hard one (after having conditioned my body at s&m parlors!) so i smiled back at him.  this made him mader and an unseemly brawl ensued, including such c**v-like pleasures as his mum (probably 40, looked not a day under 52, lambert and butler in mouth, mouth like a sailor, you get the picture!) punching me in the face, which hurt more than her sons as she had several very painful rings on!

so the nightlife wasnt for me, no matter, leeds is near (and increasingly trendified, now theres a true c**v town that now thinks its somehow different, some kind of oasis in the c**v desert that is west yorkshire:  the sunday after the playoff defeat sure disproved that!  anyway, i digress!).  but sometimes in my bored, unemployed and increasingly depressed state, i fancied a bit of afternoon drinking.  this meant i met a different style of c**v, the hopeless pisshead.  weatherspoons my first stop.  lot of dole money being pissed against the wall in there i can tell you!  got chatting with some old guys, as saw the younger generation in dewsbury was not on my conversational level.  they were really nice, but so so hopeless.  couldnt believe how much they drunk, if it wasnt for their disability benefit theyd have been outside with the tramps drinking cider near the library (had a few run-ins with them too, too depressing to go into)

however i quite liked them, and they quite liked me (mainly because i was willing to patently listen to their stories, and reply in a way that showed i agreed with their point of view)  and showed me a pisshead trick.  this involves wrapping a 5p in a rizla and dropping it into your pint.  this makes it fizz and actually taste better.  apparently its because chain pubs dont clean their glasses properly, or use some kind of cleaner that inhibits the beautiful taste of carling, or something.

anyway, one guy was really cool, just got new flat having been homeless, and a proper laugh.  so we carried on drinking into the night.  this i could see was a mistake, as in our drunken state we headed for his home in dewsbury moor “shudders’.  his house was an ex-smack den and a f*****g state. apparently he still had smackheads trying to break his door down.  he made me the most disgusting meal ive ever had, fishfingers fryed in god knows how much gone off oil served on soaking wet bread (‘vomits thinking about how i put that into my body to be polite’)   he now seemed really keen for me to sleep over, and started going on about how he’d been abused by catholic priests, and how he’d never do the same to me because i was so nice

ALERT ALERT ALERT, even in my pissed state knew i had to get the hell out of there right away unless i wanted to have my anal virginity forcably taken by a pissed up irish guy

so i made some s**t excuse, promised id come round tommorrow and ran out into the worst council estate in the worst area in the worst town it had ever been my misfortune to live in.  i made the cardinal error of lighting a cig within sight of a group of c***s while wearing a rather nice blazer/shirt/tie combination.  this brought them to me like a pack of wolves.  now when confronted by c***s im proud to say i stand my ground and never give them s**t, and have never had anything taken from me.  but this time was different and i dropped a pack of cigs and a phone, barely talking my way out with my wallet and shoes intact.  so now i was running lost through the worst place on earth crying and vowing never to leave my house again.  managed to get a taxi and slept for a long long time.

have alot more to say about dewsbury, but think ive said enough.  DO NOT GO THERE, i experienced the dark night of the human soul in that place, my character is now so developed by the experiences there that i feel i can take on anything, because it cant be worse than living in dewsbury.  hope this was entertaining, if it gets posted ill write the follow-up:  ‘batley west yorkshire, the horror, the horror’


Top 10 worst places to live in England 2019