Nestled sweetly between Macclesfield and the fake-tanned trollop and toss-pot infested ‘Pound Empire’ haven known as Stockport lies Hazel Grove, Britain’s best-kept example of dire, new-millenium chain-store infestation and truly abysmal urban development planning.
Ripped in two by the ever-clogged and chemical-spewing A6 carriageway, Hazel Grove boasts the highest number of rotten, rat s**t-infested Public Houses to the square-metre anywhere in the United Kingdom, and for each of these there stands atleast 2 drug-dealing, fat-fucker infested food take-aways, each claiming their own dominance over the rest via a pitiful and depressing ‘only in the North’ array of home-made, felt-tip written signs, often reading ‘WE SERVE BOOZE TILL 2AM’.
This thriving s**t-eatery industry serves as the epicentral, chain-smoking heart of Hazel Grove, and as anyone with an ounce of sense will have worked out, it acts as an oversized and unavoidable magnet for the town’s vile, snotty-nosed pre-pubescent population. Come 8:00pm, Hordes of T-90 cap toting tossers and fag-in-hand, saliva-drooling whores litter the previously mentioned A6 road. A 15 year-old mother of twins ambles on by, scraping the remains of a take-away out of last weeks Stockport Metro newspaper-cum-chip bag, screaming at the s**t-stained, fake Burberry-donning offspring she gave birth to. This is Hazel Grove. A mob of ketchup-stained brain-deads stray off the local council estate, scrounging the bottom of any throw-away beer cans they find in the hope of encountering a dreg of Stella.
But of course, the absolute epitemy of Chav-culture in this s**t-riddled town is the same as any other: the famous Golden Arches, shining down from a vandalised, 15 foot girder, attract Chavs and Town boys like flies to a light bulb. As 8 year olds roll their first weed spliffs in the McDonalds kiddies fun party area, hundrerds more congrugate outside, waiting in suspense to find out just who will ‘batter’ who tonight.
And of course, any unfortunate sap who knows Hazel Grove will know of the infamous ‘Co-Op Crew’, a melting-pot Chav gang consisting of hundreds of dust-cap thieving, ‘Le Coq Sportif jumper with hood up’ boasting rejects, arguing about which of the town’s several knock-off clothing stores they will ram-raid with their stolen Nova next.
I personally am fortunate enough to hail from one of the town’s ‘posh-c**t’ estates, namely the Race Course estate. Sporting decent-sized detached houses and comfortable bungalows, this estate has become a joy-riding Chavs paradise, as the respectable folk who live on the estate endure ear torture from the 17 year-old Chav, speeding down Ascot Drive in his souped-up Nova, blasting out the latest G-Unit remix ‘phat beetz’.
As stated about Stockport, if you are ever unfortunate to drive through Hazel Grove, I suggest you do just that: drive through it. The hardcore Chav spotter should have no problems catching a glimpse of the town’s several gangs, and if the worst should come to the worst the local hospital is situated just a 3 minute car drive away.