Few towns and cities throughout the land can claim to have embraced the lure of chavity than Basildon with such alacrity.
A ‘newtown’ (or ‘s******e’), springing up to the East of London, initially attracting those cheeky chappy cockerneys who are the salt of the Earth and can remember “when you could go out all day and leave the door open without worry because we all looked after each other see…”, Basildon is a concrete nightmare of rat runs designed by mentalists. Roads that seem to evolve their own house-numbering system (1,2,3, 7, 45…), a shopping centre that would make Baghdad look well presented and a glass bell tower designed purely for Ratboys and girls to gather round and stare at the few camponologists that dare show their faces are just a few of the many features.
The chav element is everywhere here. Regardless of age dress is constant. The ubiquitous tracksuit, (preferably white, baby blue of pink towelling) can be purchased at nearby Pitsea market, along with newly liberated playstation games, moody DVD’s and psuedo-perfumes. Education here is a shambles. Past the age of four, most of the inhabitants lose the ability to move their lower jaw, resulting in the unintelligible, mumbling, nasal whine that passes for language.
In recent years the development of the chavhaven of Baz Vegas, (or the festival leisure park to give it its’ official name) has seen the lowlife scum move out of the town centre itself. Like poorly educated moths drawn to its’ neon glare, the chavs at last have a place to go. With McDs, a cinema, bowling, Jumpin Jak’s, Ikon and a massive car park designed specifically with the drivers of modified XR2i’s in mind, it is heaven on Earth for p****s.
It is a sad endictment of today’s society that eight year-old kids are regularly seen out and about at midnight harassing the older generation with air-pistols. Then what do you expect from parents who have difficulty in spelling IQ?
The problem in the Basildon and its’ surrounding areas has become such that curfews have been instigated in Canvey – an island where the Police station shuts for the weekend. Spiffing.
In short, it is a sad endictment of Basildon that gypsies feel so at home they have built their own commune in Crays Hill and don’t want to leave.
I often wonder ethnic cleansing is an option open to the local councils?