The picturesque beaches, exclusive bars and clubs in Bournemouth, make this a town where you would hope that the C**v population had been squashed into submission…
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Although the more socially adept can generally avoid the s*****g element, they permeate into the Town Centre on a Friday.
Once denied entry to the trendy bars (due to their love of all things Umbro and Burberry), they cruise the bar ‘strip’ and Westover circuit in their pride and joy.
After finishing with the girl(jailbait)friend, the modded heaps of s**t are inflicted on the local population. I’ve personally never understood what place 18″ alloys, under-chassis neons, stick-on window tints, a huge exhaust, spoiler and a lowering kit had on a Peugeot 205 Diesel… but then, I never asked a C**v to explain it to me.
If you do want to wintness the Bournemouth C**v in an alcohol-serving establishment, I can make three recommendations:
– The Brasshouse: – Fully in the centre of the ‘Westover Circuit’, this C**v-magnet is the home of all things ‘Innit’. The under-age C******e clientele can only dream of a time when they earn enough to buy the Bling they so covet. Until then, their Dumb-As-F**k boyfriends amuse them by playing ‘How Much Glass Can We Smash On The Floor’, whilst jigging (as dancing would be too high a compliment) to an unrelenting Scooter MegaMix.
– Berlins: – The post-Brasshouse club. Even this piss-poor s******e has some standards which keep out the worst of the element. However by the age of 22, even the thickest C**v has figured out that the white trainer / shell suit / Burberry cap combo isn’t the most popular with the bouncers.
Jumping Jacks: – Otherwise known as Jumping Twats due to the intelligence level of the regular inhabitants. Crap music, stupid bar staff ‘performances’ and a tolerance for the C**v dress code put this high in the rankings. I’m amazed that this ‘chain’ has remained in business with the people that it calls customers. The mainstay of the C**v / C******e Stag / Hen Weekend and anyone trying to pull them.
Get out of the town centre and the C**v population drift to their home turf. Springbourne and anywhere around the station seem to pull in not only the local ghoul-faced hookers, but the p***y element as well. How convenient then that the most p***y of all the mainstream supermarkets (Asda) has a big branch there. Many a time have I had to fight through single mums who seem to use the place as a social club, congregating for a chat with no intention of doing anything other than blocking every isle. How apt that this leader in lowering the weekly shopping bill (as long as you only want bread, beans, chips, pizza and ice cream) has an in-store MacDonalds – the C***s’ Claridge’s!