Llangefni is just fine if you were born there and are hard core Welsh (or not Welsh but hard as nails) and like rain, cars, drugs and heavy drinking. If you think the blokes are scary, then watch out for the women. Oh Jesus Christ how do they ever get like that? Big prop forward shoulders, big arms, big tattoos, big everything, big gobs which seem to utter only threats and obscenities. If you catch their eye as they waddle out of Asda (with a fresh *** lit, and hollering into their phones) with a trolley heaped with junk food, red meat, white bread and lots of alcohol, just apologize and insist you aren’t looking for an immediate fight.
Their kids from the age of about ten already have the full kit: fifty quid footballer-style haircuts, earrings, and are already vaping and swearing as heavily their creators. Many of the town’s inhabitants work in the poultry
mega-death “super fun” factory on the industrial estate or in a cheese factory, which could account for their depressed lives. Many of the town’s males spend a lot of time oscillating like nuclear particles between the pub and the betting shop, or simply ******* round outside the pub holding a pint, smoking and glaring at the passers by, clearly hoping to gain eye contact and initiate a confrontation.
The high street has some of the worst charity shops ever, although I did once find a nice blue teapot in one several years ago. The famous chip shop opposite the post office burned down some years ago and this dealt a terrible blow to the morale of the community. The chips were pretty bloody awful most of the time, it must be said.
Llangefni has its cultural attractions; there is an estate where you can buy lots of drugs and watch young ner’do’wells blasting round in Evo’s and Subarus going shpss! shpss! with the dump valves. The highest aspiration in Llangefni is to own an Evo (apparently). Or be a cage fighter…not quite sure. However, the typical Llangefni lad spends a lot of time in the gym and snarfing illegal steroids, and these glowering numb-nuts can be seen swaggering around with their arms sticking out like they’re carrying heavy buckets, many of them with identical catalogue “tribal” tattoos and fashion victim haircuts.
The young women are ok until they reach about fifteen then something horrible goes wrong inside them, some kind of metabolic disaster, where they become permanently obese and ugly. Even so they still attempt to wear clothes three sizes too small for them and totter round in heels vaping and shrieking with their rolls of fat oozing out all over the shop. They clearly feel that by applying masses of fake tan, fake lashes and getting their eyebrows tattooed makes them attractive. This is why the local guys have to get so drunk or blitzed on drugs to be able to mate with them, although none of them would qualify as an oil painting either.
The town boasts no kind of cultural life, and has nothing to offer except hostile pubs once the shops are shut. The only saving grace of the town is the library, where the staff are always very polite and helpful, even though on some days of the week they have “toddlers morning” (WHY IN THE LIBRARY FOR GOD’S SAKE??) where the local mams sit round with their squealing sprogs singing daft baby songs, and so it is utterly impossible to read or concentrate on any kind of work.
It must be said that none of the surrounding towns are any better; in fact Bangor, Holyhead and Caernarfon are even worse, and the town is surrounded by some lovely open country (until you reach hostile dumps like Amlwch and Llanerchymedd where the same social types grimly reappear. If you’re English and not hard as nails, these are places to avoid if possible.