Stockton-On-Tees (or in fact any town in Teesside)

If you ever get the chance to pass by this ****** North-Eastern town then do exactly that – pass it by. Stay on the A19 and keep going until you get to Newcastle, or hot-foot it back south over the Yorkshire border, and go to York.

At least then you can get a Frappucino, because Stockton and in fact the rest of Teesside is the only place on earth that is too ****** and poverty stricken to merit the construction of a Starbucks. That is odd, especially when you consider that it’s only a matter of time before they open one in Baghdad.

Wander round Stockton’s beautiful town centre, wondering at the architectural beauty of the place, with the lovely 1970’s concrete facade of the ‘Swallow Hotel’ dominating the skyline. Actually you can’t see the sky because it’s usually blotted out by all the **** pouring out from the chimneys of Teesside’s hundreds of chemical plants.

How grim is your Postcode?

Little wonder then that the ***** here have a peculiarity about them that you rarely see elsewhere. It’s because here the air quality is so bad that Teesside ****’s breathe in more PCB’s in a lifetime than the air filter on a London bus. All ***** have a sallow complexion but here they look like ******* Skeletor.

Daily life for a **** in Stockton involves taking copious amounts of drugs, driving the most laughable pieces of **** cars you could imagine (I once saw a pink Nova with a Mercdes Benz grille) and spitting a lot. In fact, hockeying up a huge green one is so popular here, they could make it a world class sport. Stockton High Street is awash with so much **** phlegm that it resembles a scene from ‘The Blob’.

Another **** pastime is fighting. On a night out in any one of Stockton’s nightspots you can guarantee that two ***** will start knocking the **** out of each other with their under-exfoliated fists and the whole thing will escalate into a big Burberry blur.

The On-The-Piss ***** will then fortify themselves on the short walk back home to **** HQ with that unique Stockton delicacy, the ‘Parmo’. Only a town that rejected the advance of the skinny decaf mocca could invent such a **** thing. A ‘Parmo’ is a chicken breast covered with parmasan cheese and then deep fried. While that might sound passable as a local speciality bear in mind that it is usually also covered in garlic sauce, beans, curry, chips and often ends up on the windscreen of a passing car as the **** who purchased it ends up in another fight and flings it at someone.

Like the Borg, resistance against Chavdom is futile in Stockton-On-Tees. But there’s still time for green and pleasant lands of neighbouring Yorkshire to be be protected. I suggest that on the border with Yorkshire, there should be be a **** Police checkpoint stopping all Novas, Sierras and Saxos with **** bodykits on. The occupants will be dragged out, searched, made to strip out of any Burberry clothing and have their Argos account cards confiscated before being allowed to continue their journey.

Top 50 worst places to live in England 2022 as voted for by you