Porth, god’s toilet.

Living in Porth, Wales
Living in Porth, Wales

So, Porth translated is “gateway”. It’s the gates to hell more like. I live in Cymmer (said ******) so you know we are off to a good start.

The Rhondda (and no less Porth) is filled with ne’er-do-wells, lacking ambition of any sort. It amazes me that you will not find a single pretty girl here or a virgin. With that said, the ‘roid filled men who drip from the pubs and workmen’s clubs are hardly worth much to anyone. Each filled to the top with Stella and JD. They stumble homeward and utter “butt” to anyone who should cross their path.

The town and buildings leave much to be desired. Urban decay was founded here, and no, not the clothing brand! A true wasteland of both human and material things. Each inhabitant trying to scramble for the last tiny crumb of someone else’s success.

How grim is your Postcode?

Single mother rule the roost here. If you are a child with a father, you will be bullied in school and on the streets. To fit in you need the following:
A mother whose only skill is catching sperm of passing men in her net like womb.

A thick welsh accent and a throat full of some bodily fluid.

A gym pass that is ONLY to be used to inject ********.

A pathetic Corsa or off road bike.

The ability to down 15 pints and snort a line in under 3 minutes.

Benefits or job on the railway.

The main street (Hannah Street) is nothing less than a hole. As much use as an education is to anyone born here. Don’t waster your time here or you will become trapped by the mire that makes this place so god awful.

Fun fact about Rhondda generally: The schools here don’t have fathers day stalls or fathers day card making as there is so few fathers.

According to the last census, there are more women in Rhondda than men. Proves my point really.

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