Gloucester is the epitome of defeat snatched from the jaws of victory. What I mean to say is that, for example, Walsall is often cited as a dump of a town centre but has always been so before the ghastly 1960’s revamp. Gloucester has been turned into one by the planners, square ‘architecture’ of slum 1960/70’s design that was a copy of Ceaucescu’s ‘new’ Rumania before he and his kleptocratic wife were shot against a wall. We see this crapola nestled against grand old buildings, the most notable example being King’s Square.
The town centre is boarded up at the periphery, and is a classic example of ‘bookies,banks,bakers,bars and bargain shops’ that some towns have now become. Now socially, the town is hopeless. It used to have 4 or 5 nightclubs but now has one, the grotty ‘Liquid’ in Eastgate Street. Eastgate Street is the social centre of the town with strings of chav bars and unhygienic immigrant takeaway shops alternating along the chip-strewn seagull s**t-encrusted pavements. In between a few immigrant newsagents where you can buy (unwittingly) fake tobacco and cigarettes and spirits. As you walk up there on a Friday or Saturday night, stepping over the rivulets of frothing urine meandering across the pavements from each alley and shop doorway, you are of course confronted by the chavs and chavettes.
The chavettes are worse; underdressed in the winter, short tops with a roll of flab hanging out from under, a cheap chrome trinket nailed through their navels, they holler obscenities at each other as they slide down the greasy pavements swigging from their alcopop bottles and plastic glasses, often dressed up as policewomen or some other guise in their attempts to look like they’ve got something to celebrate. This is despite the Wests’ attempts to cull them back in the 1990’s. When they get to a bar, they will immediately pose for a stupid contrived photograph which is no doubt destined for Faecebook in their pathetic attempts to convince other no-marks that they have had ‘fun’.
The place is poor, a low-rent low-wage economy. This is seen in the size of the people, young women especially. They would look normal in Tonga, but there must be a local incentive system to be obese. I counted 7/10 females one night in the town as being overweight. The opposite is true in Cheltenham. Over there, the scummers are mostly confined to one out-of-town area so most of the town is decent to live in. In Gloucester you are always next to a scummer area. The locales of Gloucester are: Dreadworth, Matscum, Roughley, Shabbeymead, Shabbeydale, Shite City, Stoney Hill, Taintbridge, Binden and Sodsmead. Avoid them all. If you are unfortunate enough to be posted there through work, live in a village outside the city, go shopping in an out-of-town park and you’ll never need to go into the khazi.
The acccent? Well, some accents, like Welsh, sound sexy on the women and retarded on the men. The Gloucester accent has the unique quality of making anybody using it sound retarded.
As is usual, the town is blighted by the effects of unmetered third-world and E.European immigration. Romanian beggars and shoplifters, Polish alcoholics, black muggers and drug dealers and we’ve even had the honour of two of our muzzies being convicted of terror offences. This is of course, in addition to our indigenous Saturday night yobs and dosser-street drinkers which lurk by every cash machine. They also infest the Cathedral area, the one green space in the city centre. There are so many that there is now even a ‘wet area’ to keep them off the streets, where they can imbibe White Lightning, Tennent’s Super-Strengh and Carlsberg Special Brew paid for by us taxpayers, at their leisure. I hope the cans are being recycled.
So, to summarize: move into the town, or visit it, at your peril. Just to avoid your vehicle being plastered in seagull s**t is reason enough to stay away, notwithstanding the above. Being filthy, the town is a magnet for the KFC-gulls. If you have kids, make sure to live in a village outside, where other kids speak English and actually want to learn subjects aside from swaggering down the street with their arses hanging out of their cretinous trousers. A more socially bereft place you’d struggle to find. Oh, I forgot! The much-vaunted redevlopment of the Old Docks. The derelict crumbling Victorian red-brick monstrosities, sitting next to the halfway houses and drug hostels in Llanthony Road……..now they are Victorian red-brick monstrosities, sitting next to the Halfway houses and drug hostels in Llanthony Road…ermm…with some poncey shops and a resurfaced car park.
By: paul m