Sale is a festering blister that can be avoided on the way to Manchester, but most people use as a racetrack. It is a no-mans land between Altrincham and Stretford. The carbon monoxide dulled flotsam that drift aimlessly around it’s streets during the day, survive on a diet of sausage rolls and pasties. These pastry dummies that the **** ******* mums feed their kids have given them a greyish tinge to their skin. However this could be due to ground in dirt, as the pollution levels are so bad that a few moments spent near a road in Sale will leave your skin covered in soot/carbon and the **** here prefer to spend their money on cigs rather than on soap/deodourant.
Handy for the fighting ****, Sale has several pubs – one even on a junction facing the magistrates courts and the 24hr criminal solicitors. If observing the **** in a natural enviroment is your bag then you can’t **** a trip down to the local DWP office or “social” where these oxygen thieves pick up “their wages”. Due to the stagnation of the gene pool even Attenborough would be kept busy. Sale town centre should be awash with lost money and giros if these thieves are to be believed. They use the local authorities as interest free loan companies to finance their parasitic existance.
Sale Mall ( who are they kidding ?) or precinct has many opportunities for the Artful ****, from “taxing” pension books, shoplifting/ pickpocketing to intimidation. There are a number of shops now boarded up and you get the impression that businesses are getting out. Argos is doing a roaring trade though..
Every morning the roads are filled with commuters racing to escape the ******** before the early bird ***** start their criminal activities for the day. These people have the advantage of not suffering the place during the day. These same commuters are also forcing up the house prices ( believe it or not ) and providing a bit of extra income at the pawnshop for the **** with the light fingers and a talent for house breaking.
For those wanting to cut short their visit, there are numerous bus stops, taxi ranks and the tram system, that offer the 24hr possibility of a ruck if you haven’t got 10p, a cigarette, a lighter or anything else.
For true danger seekers, there is a shoebox bar/club of supreme pikeness that is very close to Sale station ( which stinks of piss and vomit ) and opposite a pub that the **** have had shut down on a number of occasions. ( Complete with it’s own taxi rank fight zone & bus stop !! )
Entering this bar/club and walking down the stairs is like descending into **** hell. Many people have been lured inside by the late licence, but this is a mistake. Although for the chavspotter a chance to observe them in the wild and laugh at their blunted social skills after a few pints of wifebeater. Whilst their “*******” dance to music with the intelligence of a lobotomy.
Why not finish your visit with a fight in one of the many chippy’s in Sale. One of the locals will be sure to oblige you with a few drunken swings, if they take offence to you. Don’t be shy it’s part of their social standing within the group. It’s best to get a mate to hold your food. The ***** around here like to push before they fight. Whilst their mates egg them on to “Blapp you” and their jailbait “trophy” screams down your ear.
I am convinced that the loss of Sale would cause the national IQ level to rise. A truly squalid place.