I’ve lived in Winsford all my life, and apparently according to my parents it was once a nice, peaceful, prosperous town. But as with most towns, it has became infected. Several council estates were built, there are three all around my cul-de-sac. One ironically called ‘Mount Pleasant’ nicknamed ‘Mounty’ by the local c***s. Another called St. Johns, although I don’t think the c***s where clever enough to think of a ‘chavvy’ nickname so therefore there isn’t one. The last and the worst is Glebe Green. I’m the kind of person who enjoys going for walks, I like to walk to a little shop on the other side of town, but every single time the c***s are out and in full force when near an off-licence shop. As I walk past them, all I hear is “Get served for us, mate?” I have to resist the urge to beat them [metaphorically] with a stick. Can’t I even walk to a shop without being bothered by these little bastards? Of course not. The funniest thing is that the same c***s have the cheek to ask you again as you walk out of the shop.
There are roughly ten pubs in Winsford. All of them are infested with them. The hotspot is the JD Wetherspoons pub in the middle of the town centre. The cheap booze attracts them to what would otherwise be a very nice pub. If I do ever visit it I refuse to sit inside, as I have discovered over the years that even with their white track-suit bottoms tucked into their socks and their overly large helly hanson coats, they do not like the cold and avoid it if they can. (This being the main reason why i prefer the winter months).
Now to the town centre, for some reason called ‘The Winsford Cross’, there are around three second hand shops, an Argos, two ‘Pound Shops’, a Farm Foods and about fifty sunbed places, as well as a family-c**v shop called B+M (bargain madness) full of all your cheap c**v foods and supplies. Now I think the c***s in Winsford have some how evolved some form of intelligence, I don’t know how but they have. They don’t always have the same spots where they will hang around on weekends and attempt to display their masculine dominance to become the ‘Alpha male’ of their group and win the chavettes. These c***s move around from bus stops to car parks to Off-licence, to avoid being stopped and dispersed by the police.
The funniest c**v moment I’ve ever witnessed was when me and a friend were walking home one night and witnessed a group of young c***s or ‘mini-c***s’ as I call them, walking away down a street carrying planks of wood, obviously the first thing I thought was “f*****g c***s” then I saw where the planks of wood had come from, there was a gap in a fence, a fence on somebody’s back garden. These mini c***s had actually stolen a fence! But then the best thing happened, a police car comes along down the road and almost immediately, like a sixth sense, the c***s drop the planks of wood and walk along as if nothing had ever happened. Of course the police car stopped and a small short tempered police women got out followed by a policeman. The policewoman was shouting and balling at them, I couldn’t help but laugh.
Although there is much much more I could tell you about low-life culture in Winsford, I feel that I have put enough here as it is.