Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in United Kingdom

3 for 1, I know, but there really is no point in distinguishing between any of them as they are all within spitting distance of each other, and we all know how those pikies love to spit!!

I had the misfortune to move to Atherton a few years ago and due to financial constraints am still in hell. My first child was 3 months old when I took him out for a walk in the pram when, probably as I was not ‘local’, (a major crime in this inbred northern hovel), he decided to try & fight me!! I had a baby in a pram!! Luckily, the Atherton Chav is easily confused, especially when faced with a different accent to his own, so I escaped, but for fucks sake!! I was walking home past a new park built for chav offspring, when I noticed that as well as the massive amounts of litter already overflowing onto the streets, every little scrote was wearing the same: Henri Lloyd stripey jumper, cap (chavs & chavettes), tracky bottoms stuffed into once white, now greying socks, with Rockport boots – all the same, every man jack of them!!

Gangs of 10 year olds roam the streets, throwing stones at people and cars, offering out anyone who has the misfortune to walk past them, trying to get you to buy there fags for them or seeing how many swear words they can use before having to say a non-swear word (so un-cool), before using there knocked off up-to the-minute mobiles to abuse one of their alleged friends. Even when taking a bus to work, some little scrote will bang on the window, waggle a tongue at the ladies (mmmm), and then throw White Lightning through the windows for a ‘laff’.

Saturday nights alright for fighting, & Tyldesleys the best place for that – the streets are crowded with Burberry caps and stripey Fred Perry jumpers, (makes a change from H Lloyd), putting their sovs to the use they were bought for – inflicting as much damage as possible on any one who looks at their pint funny. There are no real shops to speak of, just a high street full of bars to get pissed in, no cars can be seen on a weekend night, just heard as the drum thuds on the latest Happy Hardcore choon for the chav to get wrecked to.

Now Leigh, wonderful Leigh!! Where to begin?? The Special Brew drinkling bagheads around the local library & surrounding car parks, or the great unwashed taking last nights burglaries to Cash Generator for the next giro supplement? Fast Food should never be scary, but a visit to Leigh McDonalds will soon have you gulping that burger down as quick as you can in terror, as some scally kids with snotty noses and week old dirt tries to nick your food while the beige anorak wearing neanderthal responsible for the little brats existence stares and the hair scraped back, roots showing scrubbers with the white slag coat/ grubby furry hood screech in a pretense that they give the slightest s**t!! As they say around here, ‘Fritenin!’

This may be controversial, but Joan Collins had a point when she said something should be put in the water to curb the spread of these street rats – or, in the words of that great Northern sage Morrissey, “Come, come, nuclear bomb…”