Crawley is like looking what the cat coughed up and pissed all over

Crawley, West Sussex, Property guide and review

Cesspit, ********, cat-sick-slobber – there are many names for Crawley. Some call it the Armpit of the South, I’d go further than that. I’d say it’s the infected spot in the Armpit of the South. My two friends and I were so pleased when we discovered that Crawley had not been missed off the list of towns – that, in fact, it had 3 entries! Three! So we thought we’d add a fourth. We thought we’d be refreshing and give three independent accounts on various areas with in the rank, disgusting and ****-******** hole. Make no mistake it is **** ********, living in Crawley is like looking what the cat coughed up and pissed all over at times. 90% of the population is **** based or related, the rest of us make do as best we can. And God do we try.

Account #1: The Park

Now as the oldest of the Crawleyites I would love to be able to say that Crawley wasn’t always this way, that it didn’t always have **** Mecca – County Mall. But that would be a lie. A barefaced, stinking, stupid, ****** little lie. Crawley has been this bad as long as I can remember, there have always been squeaky voiced little boy ***** trying to look big for their five years underage **** girlfriends. ‘Tis just the way.

How grim is your Postcode?

Arguably the thing that made Crawley famous was a little event in an area local to my house called Tilgate Park. A place where, shockingly for Crawley, there are very few council houses. Single mums teenage mums, however, are surprisingly enduring when it comes to finding a home. Anyway, some ***** who were feeling far more clever than they actually were hooked a moped up to a child’s roundabout. They proceeded to rev it and cried in youthful glee when the engine caused the toy to spin. Three ********* then seated themselves on it and the fun began. It spun so fast that the stupid ***** were thrown off and given broken limbs and third degree friction burns. This made NATIONAL NEWS and so it should. We should remember the amazing depths of **** idocy. We could scarcly believe it. Other ***** could scarcely believe it.

But that is only what the BBC knows us for – an event outside Tilgate Park. I now wish to talk about what goes on within it. I am of course referring to the ‘night fishing’. Ever wonder how our teenage pregnancy rate is so high? Well this is how! ***** and their all-too-young ********* go the the lake at night and do any number of activities at an interesting variation of volumes. Fornication, fighting (even though they may not have alcohol!), nude swimming or even murder. It is so very difficult to tell. The police don’t dare enter, neither do those unfortunate enough to live nearby. This behaviour is odd and almost *******, just like the Pint&Fight phenomenon. Because of it we have an ever increasing number of the burberry wearing, sticky fingered, pissed off their faces, headache inducing, mugging, thieving, fighting, little ********. Would it **** you to use protection? REALLY?

It’s not much to ask is it?

Account #2: The First Hand Encounters

As a local shop worker in a newsagent I notice something about my regular customers every so often and this happens to if not all of them, the teeange single mums and lay-about housewives will dissappear for a week or two only to reappear a few days later with another child, which would make 4, 5 now? I lose count. If I’m not being regailed with truly inspirational stories of how their wonderful lives fall to pieces when they can’t cash a gyro at the local post office only to get them selves pissed for another night at the local pub; I am met with the classic **** who comes in asks for a large Rizla just so they can get high for another night as they roll up in front of me.

And then it happens I’m invited to go out with a group of *sneer* adoring locals who wish to go to Bar Med (local **** night out of choice for your classier ****) to which I laugh and respectfully decline for fear of being followed home and gang-raped. For as we all know Bar Med is one of the areas in Crawley which I like to refer to as ‘The Source’. From ‘The Source’ spouts all manner of things drugs, fights and the occasional – no thats a lie – daily occurence of the couples entering the gents; probably going to flush the chemical toilet and make more darling cherubs to brighten up my day. After all where would we be with out this stunning beacon in the middle of our town centre, it reaches to all races and cults of the Crawley area drawing them in from all over like goblins to get their usual fix? Where would we be?

A better place.

Now after hobbling out of Bar Med you would think they wouldn’t get so pissed out of their minds they can leave with some dignity right? You would be wrong. They step onto the bus, refuse to pay, fight with the driver and then only find themselves on the floor of the bus or plastered to the glass shields, they will normally stay there till morning. This is no ordinary bus service; this is Metrobus and Fastway but that is a topic I shall leave for the next writer.

Account #3:

Crawley can only really be seen on a bus, and coming from Bewbush (the cesspool of the cess pool), I really get to see some…colourful characters! I remember one experience on the way home through gossops green, minding my own business a brick suddenly found itself trying to break through the glass beside my head. Fearing it was the end and terrorists had finally emerged from the back of Ifield I thought I’d stare death in the face and give a well earned ‘**** you’. Imagine my surprise then when the brick had been thrown from a bunch of kids no older than 10…just think, they lived so close to bewbush and they weren’t fathers of at least 2!

Although this point has been gone over so many times, underage pregnancy isn’t a problem, more like expected. If you’re bleeding from the ****** then it’s time to leave home and get yourself council house! Best way to do that? Shag in every back corner and have yourself and your wailing baggage shoved in Bewbush or Broadfield, or if you’re really lucky the hostel just by ASDA. Just think, the boozer across the road, the hospital down the road and the church graveyard a 5 minute walk away. Its like a neon sign BE THE SHIZ PICKLE YOUR LIVER INNIT!

Ah yes Bewbush, the part of Crawley no-one wants to be in…and the council accept that! they even try to solve the problem! ‘Try’ being the main word. The local pub got knocked down a few months ago and is getting replaced by, you guessed it, more council houses! They even tried to help the poor trackie bints with prams and gave them a park to go to…which then turned into another baby making spot. Oh and the leisure centre got knocked down and replaced by a sort of…sexual health clinic? No-one really knows what it is and the *****, with top form i might add, quickly covered it in graphic graffiti telling them where to shove their advice up the backside.

The field on the back of the old leisure centre is another story entirely. A huge football field  on the back of the farer out council houses, is the prime vacation spot for all pickeys. I cannot tell you the joy I express seeing a nike covered **** having a **** in the street. In fact, I think this is all ***** are ever good for in Crawley. If they see a pickey then all attention is directed at driving them away! It’s like a holiday from the constant **** they give you, instead of having them try and **** YOU up, the ***** get it instead! But then they leave and the ***** use it as the ultimate boozer. smashed WKD bottles…oooo yay.

We are three non-***** from Crawley and even we cannot escape the culture. If you ever find yourself in this God-forsaken spit of land then run, run fast and hard and don’t look back. Much as I hate to say it MAKE FOR HORSHAM. We don’t really like them on principle but they have one thing right. Crawley is a deadly place for the non-educated in **** ways. After awhile it gets inside you, it infects you. Soon you end up swearing and liking RnB.

Sad times. Sad times, people.