North WestTyne and Wear

I’d like to tell you about a funny thing that happened to me a few weeks ago. You might not believe it but it’s true. It all began on rainy Saturday morning when I went to the shop for some coca-cola for my lovely angela who was blissfully snoring on my sofa having watched Saturday morning telly. As I was walking across the road I noticed a strange husk-like figure dragging itself across the street towards me wearing a Burberry cap, nike (a copy in gateshead I presume) top and some baggie trackie bottoms with obligatory and by now patented c**v-white trainers. It was oozing saliva and alcohol from every pore and had it’s arms outstretched to me in a frightening yet curious manner.

At first I thought it must be a plague of killer zombies on the loose then I realised that the Saltwell Road Social Club had had one of their now infamous chicken in a basket evenings which had resulted in a lock-in and some unsavoury c**v-baiting over their now battered and beaten pool table. I of course freed myself from this frightening situation by running into my local corner shop for some coca-cola and a wooden spoon to fend off my would-be attacker only to discover that it too was full of c***s looking for their saturday morning nicotine and red bull fix along with their copies of saturday sport which wielded the headline FREDDIE STARR ATE MY C**V. To make matters worse they did not have proper coca-cola and instead I had to make do with gateshead’s own C**V BRAND which boosts a vague hint of white lightning and meths.

After purchasing my wooden spoon, C**V BRAND cola and a copy of C**V MONTHLY which this month featured a centre spread of Stacy the single mother from Bensham draped naked over the bonnet of a BMW Z5 which had presumably been stolen moments before the photo-shoot. I made my way back to my water-logged flat numptying any c**v that got in my way with a quick THWACK of my spoon and a slap of my C**V MONTHLY. Angela asked me what had happened and after I told her she burst out laughing, telling me that it wasn’t an outbreak of zombies or last night’s Saltwell Road Social Club chicken in a basket evening overrunning – no, nothing so innocent. It was the annual GOLDATHON that was about to kick into full swing where resident c***s bring their jewellery into the street and attempt to knock down passing policemen with their chunky gold 9 carat identity bracelets with the word RICKY emblazoned on them even though they’re aren’t very many people in gateshead (or gatesheed to pronounce it like the natives) there. This frightened me even more and for the rest of the day we stayed indoors listening to the gentle thuds of policemen hitting the ground as whopping great lumps of fake gold knocked them unconscious as they passed. Ah, bliss in Gateshead.

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