Well where do I start? Culcheth is a hole roughly equidistant between Liverpool and Manchester, and as it’s in commuter reach of both these “fair” cities, property prices over the last 25 years have ran out of control, making it eternally unaffordable for the offspring of local people. It’s popular with fat accountants, drug dealers at the higher end of the chain, porn chat-line owners and various other lowlifes from every walk of life.
Culcheth started off as nothing but a small village full of redder than rednecks, with mostly inbred DNA from the nearby town of Leigh. In the hey-days of atomic energy, with the headquarters of the United Kingdom Atomic Energy Authority (UKAEA), and British Nuclear Fuels (BNFL), Culcheth was born again, but not so much in a Christian manner. It was very much re-populated from all over the UK when workers from all over the UK emigrated there to take advantage of the lucrative government paid job opportunities.
Then came the melting pot which resulted in the indigenous population today, that spend their drink-sodden and drug influenced lives looking on with hostile envy, as the nouveau riche sit in any of the numerous wine-bars and restaurants paying London prices, or driving around in their chav, high-end vehicles, all made easily affordable from their ill gotten gains.
It’s very sad to see how traditional village life has completely disappeared and been replaced with a culture as rotten as the worst apple fermenting away at the bottom of the barrel. I wasn’t a local, but through circumstances spent an un-enjoyable section of my life there, waiting for the first opportunity to leave. I found that, as have others, but so many more are trapped with very little possibility of ever leaving.
Culcheth isn’t the worst place in the world, and probably not the worst place in the UK, but the thought of ever returning turns my stomach.