Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Wales

YSTRAD MYNACH

Hang outs:

– The chippy by the hair salon

– the beech pub (breeding haven for chav’s and chavettes)

– the bus stop (by day usually) by the barber shop opposite da library (still puzzled as to what it’s really there for apart from hide from the local pc plod)

– the back alley (by night usually) that connects the (still weird building that is…) the library and the offy.

– the bench by the church opposite somerfield…

well…….every where really!


If there were to be an earthquake or an atom bomb to go off, I would choose my once beloved town of Ystrad to bear the brunt!
Sorry you nice people out there!! But it’s gotta be done.

as the previous commentator described it, this once really nice little place is now Chav paradise.

ystrad comes with a school for girls, a resource pool for many a desperate 16 yo scum bag to go play “dipping the willy” after half three and a few shots down the beech pub.

THE,( I beleive), focal point for scallies, has to be the afore-mentioned public establishment; the Beech. It’s unique position (near the greasy chip shops and the girls school) and lax opening hours(forget licensing since the cop shop closed years ago) make it ideal for young chavs to congregate and speed off to tesco at silly o clock for a few spins innit!!

I am loving dissing this pub after having been involved in a “dispute” with one of the locals (chav) simply because I actually have a brain that’s been working for the past 24 years.

the train station (or after hours brothel) does, i can confirm, provide a safe haven for 14 yo alcy’s to carry out their night shifts, selling any thing they can lay their greasy little mits on! this does include screen wash in a disused strongbow bottle, kitchen knives and lawn mowers. anything that hasn’t been bartered during the night before the last train to Kairdiff (cardiff,the capital of chavland) will be , of course be left in the park (by the swings) to burn and keep our little prats warm. Awwwww!

just a little word of advice; if ever you’re driving a heavy car like mine, don’t stop at the zebra by the Beech, ….go on….floor it, you’ll know you’ve done a civic act of bravery in the name of all normal people.
you can also shout out “Bullseye” and display the burberry cap as a trophy!

more ideas welcome.


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Wales

Ystrad Mynach, where a chav is a real chav, and a non-chav is home before dark. Despite my trying not to be cliche and sound older than I am, it’s hard to describe how the once quiet, small family orientated village I knew in my earliest youth has become over the past ten or so years a hive of chav activity, where apple derived honey is the currency of a dirty, tracksuited militia. The chavs of Ystrad Mynach seem to have no desire whatsoever to mature, still choosing the hangouts of their youth. The park is the main one of these, used widely by a variety of leisure-suited homophobes, although other places still attract a fair crowd. Perhaps tonight will be one of those where the local train station becomes a sort of crude Pub serving flagons and ‘buckets’ to it’s patrons? These clubs are however exclusive. If a non-chav were to show their face near this den of bling then the Chavs would enjoy a favourite part of their night, the ‘beating up’ of a ‘gay’. Long hair is definitely a no here. Also any clothing not bought from B-Wise in Caerphilly or one of the nearby charity shops is a guaranteed fashion faux-pas. Oh, and don’t use words like ‘faux’ or ‘pas’ after sundown, only ‘queers’ speak French, and Xenophobia is a nice break for them from the usual drudgery of ‘Yoower lushhh’ or ‘Wha iz tha’?
In Ystrad Friday night is bike day; chavs will polish up their ‘cycles’ and meet up by Bryn Seion in the hope that their shiny and gleaming lawnmowers will catch the eye of a local chavette, who will stumble blindly towards them, dazed and confused by the innate beauty before her, yet propelled with great speed and efficiency by the pride of her wardrobe, a pair of shining white Nikes, bought by her Mother with all the Dole Cheque ‘w’en we wen’ to Caaardiff larss week’. Who knows, if her earrings are of sufficiently huge diameter maybe tonight is the night that she’ll make Mam (note the lack of Dad) proud by creating the third generation of her family in the last 25 years? There has to be something wrong when your great-grandmother is 58 and still manages to get to bingo every night for her pint and ten fags. And they do. A dump in a county full of, and proud of, its dumps, where sex education is given by crude drawings on climbing frames, and safe sex means carrying a knife and thinking sharp, Ystrad is an eden of white Kappa, where maturation is getting a factory job ‘down da birff’ and being allowed in the Beech without having to sneak in through the broken windows. A place fit only for those people destined to stay there forever, and ever, and ever………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..Oh, and it wreaks of Lamberts.