[starratingmulti id= tpl=12 average_size=’20’]Bransholme is not strictly a town in its own right, it is a suburb of Hull. It is also the largest council housing estate in Europe, need I say more! The best way to go there (who would want to go there in the first place?) is on the number 30 bus – no self respecting person would take their own vehicle – they remove the parts while you are still driving it! Depart the bus at Branny Senna (Bransholme Centre – a shopping mall – more about this later!) and the first thing you hear is some ten ton, blubbery, single, ugly as sin, teenage mum shouting at the top of its voice (or is this normal for a Branny Chav?) at a snotty nosed kid as it runs away, “Ged ‘ere now, you fooking little bastard”, well that is really going to give the little bastard a complex – it is bad enough actually being a bastard without broadcasting it to all and sundry! Then as you take your life in your hands and enter Senna, you are confronted by a smoke screan of fag smoke – they can’t read so they don’t know about the no smoking laws in all public buildings – and then lurching out of the mist are the local neanderthal male’s, clad in shell suits, baseball hats and nicked bling, gormless looks on their faces and grunting to each other – the strange thing is they seem to understand each other! Having had enough of this – and not being able to breath I re-trace my steps to the bus, by this time the ten ton blubber has attracted males trying it on. “Fancy a fook, darl?”, they grunt, “Fook off,” is the response. The bus arrives, the doors open and I jump on, the driver hits the gas and gets me out of there as quickly as possible. If this is what Bransholme is like, I daren’t venture to North Bransholme, it’s bound to be worse.