A simple hop, step and a jump into the county of Derbyshire and you will stumble across the tragically run down, tiny town (or ‘taaaarn ‘as the yocals know it) of Alfreton.
Its not a coincidence that everyone looks the same, apparently Alfred, the first man who dared to step foot into the darkest depths of the Midlands long, long ago, had a -ton of women from there and nearby villages, thus Alfre-ton.
The ‘taaaarn’ has a football team called Often Taaaarn. Visitors should be wary on a Saturday afternoon, there’s a massive gang of 8-12 middle aged blokes who look the same, pale faced, M’Catted up to their back teeth, gagging for some fisty-cuffs! The inter-breeding leg-ends wear ‘Stone Inland’ fleece jackets and a red scarf. They can’t be missed if you’re on Nottingham Road! They address each other as squire, youth and chief?
The only place for the chavtastic teens to go and get sniff and cheap shots of cider vinegar is The King Alfred. Formally known as Old MacDonald’s Farm (make your own conclusion here)! A foot or so away from’t Farm is The Bluebell, it fits about 8 kids in at a time all tripping their silly young inbred tits off, barfing and twitching all over what once was a pool table, maybe?
Although a mere pin prick on the map, Often taaaarn’s c**v population outweighs the pit-bull crossbreed population (over approx 200m2) by about 3-2. As ever, there is one scruffy Paaaand shop (£) in the vicinity and more quality clothing outlets than your eyes will believe: Couture such as Johnny J’s and Bon Marché! There used to be a Bacons’ and a Bewise but they had to shut down after a bunch of piss stinking, M-Cat sniffing twirps claimed ‘squatters rights’ in their doorways! Who would want to take the risk and shop elsewhere? Answer = All of the world’s population… Probably!
Although the nearest MacD’s is half a mile away, in the derelict, dirty and post-industrial village of Somercotes, there is a f**k off Wilkos in ‘Often youth! A top-of-the-range ‘Pick N Mix’ selection that seems to attract the pre-school chavvies like flies round s**t! Vulgar and shocking language is guaranteed to bring doubled over LOL shock factor to ‘normal folk’ in the yocally re-named ‘Grab-N-Run’ area, unless you’re from any Government Agency who might be trying to catch Tracy-two-step, donned with walking stick and crutch, not designer Skeggy Market replishites… Dee & Gee, Kalvin Clean and even Farmani Genes FFS! She’ll still run like the clappers while pushing her designer ‘Mamma’s and Different Pappa’s’ quad buggy, her dozens of inbreeds trailing behind in an attempt to out-run the VIP (vodka-induced-prats) security he/she’s who pocket liquorice laces as they pretend to CCTV that they’re earning their below minimum wage of £3.90 an hour!
General meeting places for the teen c***s is The Chatterbox Cafe next door to the public toilets (clean) by the bus-station. The inbred clampits can dream of the day that they will be able to scrape together the bus fare to visit Ripley or Chesterfield or even across the great county divide to Mansfield. Loud conversations about “weak birds” and the gentle sound of the flicking of pages of “Max Power” are the norm. Around 9am, on school days, The Chatterbox is rammed to the rafters because Jack left The Railway and The Travelers Rest. Often Lido’ shut its doors years back due to HSE regulations (rat piss).
Chavettes tend to favour the area by Boots and Superdrug, as they can loudly discuss losing their virginity, with maximum impact. Luckily there is also a Greggs wannabe pie shop, where the larger girls can stock up on artery clogging pasties and where triple buggy access is at its best.
Ironically, Alfreton has many banks and building societies, I suspect these are just a pipe-dream or are only used for business purposes, and/or money laundering. Customer service is a foreign concept, as is actually getting the correct change during transactions….but complain at your own risk!
Back in the day Alfreton (Often), used to be a bustling little street, ideal for fetching a freshish loaf or a link of sausages from the butchers. Now I would only EVER enter this town in order to go elsewhere (by donkey), or if i wanted a cheap laugh!
Nowadays, the pubs start up a roaring breakfast trade at dusk for the ‘Job-Seekers’ and are brimming by 3am! The hidious perms of my youth have been replaced by slap-backs, so tight that it brings a tear to the eye. The uniform is the usual sports wear, with rip-offs readily available at the market…..it is not uncommon to see larger ladies sport “Von-Bitch” or “Pussy Sport” fitted T-shirts under their adidas puffa jackets. The gents “keep it real” with terrible dental hygiene, Adidas, Nike and Ben Shermans. All year round, the male c***s of Alfreton will feel the need to go coatless, maybe this is a sign of their masculinity? Needless to say it’s not us normal people in our nice coats that look like tits when it is lashing it down on a November’s day.
If you’re ever in the region….this is a must-NOT-see town, a real not-delight, if you like that sort of not-hing….