Once proudly referred to as the ‘Home of The British Army’ now more commonly referred to as the ‘Home to a British army of genetically suspect *****.’
From the Burger King carpark sound offs (from the back of whale-tailed 1.0 Novas) to the ‘designer’ outlet stores – this place really does ooze **** from every concrete pore.
With soaring house prices and a more mobile population, when my wife and I decided to get on the property ladder, we thought nothing of moving further away from London in order to get more for our money. We tracked the railway routes out of the city until we found a suitable town that offered the size of property we wanted within budget. Unfortunately for us…..we ended up in Aldershot.
It’s hard to put your finger on which factor makes Aldershot the ultimate **** town….there are just so many.
A drive through Burger King is a must. The Aldershot one is conveniently located next to a car wash – which means that Burberry clad goons can grab some grease in a bun (to help their already pitted complexion) and clean their Lax Power-mobiles at the same time. This combination of fast food and ride blingabilty has led to the car park becoming a mini-cruise / meet up spot. Darren and Chantelle can be seen, boots open, lairy baseball cap suitably perched right on top of their empty skulls, nodding their heads to the drum and bass blasting from the car. Elizabeth Duke jewelery can be compared and swapped and hub caps stolen easily for those yet to make the leap to the dizzy heights of alloy wheel ownership.
The town centre itself is awash with **** town must-haves. We have a pound shop, which I have to admit I’ve been in, and twice I heard the long suffering shop keeper asked “‘Scuse mate….ahhh much is dis innit?”. A pound mate. Everything’s a pound.
There are a variety of charity shops and discount outlets, the best of which is at the top of the Wellington Centre. This designer outlet sells only the tat that noone in their right mind would buy. Neon yellow Moschino singlets and mishapen brown Valentino cords adorn the window display. Porscha and Wayne can often be seen rummaging through this haute couture dog ****, and shouting “Fackinell…deese Armani jeens is awnly twenty paaand…I’m ‘avin ’em innit….”.
Yes, moron. They are only £20 because they are lime green with ARMANI plastered up the leg. Giorgio was probably on acid when he designed those ******* monstrosities.
Then there’s the nightlife.
According to one local, Aldershot nightlife has ‘mellowed’ since most of the para regiments were relocated a few years ago.
Hmmm….I wonder what it USED to be like.
There are a variety of **** hangouts – in fact it’s hard to find a pub in Aldershot that isn’t full of either ***** or ridiculously hard squaddies. The squaddies are easy to spot. The ‘Baghdad tan’, 12 empty pint glasses on the table and the look in the eyes of a man denied *** for months on end are the sure signs that you’re eyeballing one of her majesty’s finest.
Perhaps the best **** spots are The Goose (Wetherspoons) and Yates. The Goose boasts and interesting mix of ****, from benefit fraudster single Mums to Ben Sherman clad council workers. Whatever the weather, and whatever the night of the week, you’re sure to find a fight, some blood on the floor in the toilet cubicle and a girl left on the curb crying over the way ‘that wankaaa’ treats her.
Despite these ****-tastic horror shows, perhaps the jewel in Aldershots crown is the nightclub. Cheeks. Cheeks by day looks like an old abandoned cinema – long past its date for demolition. By night it is a breeding ground for Aldershots roughest and toughest **** males, and saddest, fattest and most desperate females. It’s hard to walk past the door on a Friday or Saturday night without being dragged in by some makeup caked mother and daughter combo (the daughter being 30 years old and 32 stone) who want to ‘…take a nice young geezer like you ‘ome and boaf ‘av a go….’. The floor is genuinely sticky and the walls adorned with very poorly drawn glow-in-the-dark tributes to the likes of Madonna and Michael Jackson.
And as if Cheeks wasn’t enough, we have Tiffanys. Tiffanys is a strip club. Apparantly. Although, I have been to enough strip clubs to know that this is not one! The girls who dance (no word of a lie) do not have notes thrust into their G-strings, they walk around with pint glasses, and dance when they feel they have collected enough loose change from the punters! And the girls themselves look like rejects from a Roly-Poly tribute band. It’s hard to put into words just how poor this place is.
A friend of mine had a private dance forced upon him – the girl pulled a shabby curtain across a cubicle and plugged some speakers into a Sony Walkman before gyrating her sweating flabby mass all over him. Half way through this torture he was saved as the Walkman chewed the Snap megamix she was dancing to, and the lard arsed ***** ran off in tears.
And the icing of the cake for this fine establishment…..it bills itself as a B&B! No doubt, if required, rooms are available by the hour.
I could go on and on detailing the groups of phone box vandals and chip-chuckers that roam around the town waiting for Mum to finish the night shift at Tiffanys, but to be honest I’m depressing myself now.
It’s not just a bad gene pool and a military back ground that make Aldershot the sess pool it is. It’s not just the concrete, characterless, buildings and lack of ‘proper’ retail outlets. It’s a combination of all of these factors, combined with the overwhelming sense of desperate hoplessness that you get when you spend a few hours within its dreary confines, that leads me to conclude that…(in the words of the Burger King campaign)….if you want ****…and you go to Aldershot – “You got it!”.