Sunny Gainsborough… the chav’s dreamland… A vista of cheap seventies housing and disused riverside factory buildings, once proud, now housing charity shops.
Well… where to start? Gainsboough is a town that barely figures on a map of the area, let alone England, set in the heartland of Lincolnshire’s bustling district of West Lindsey. Although Burberry hasn’t quite caught on yet (Lincolnshire is not noted for its avant-garde fashion sense) many a young person can be seen garbed head to toe in ageing adidas three-stripe. The main hangout for chav and secondary schoolkid alike is Richmond Park, home to a number of socially precocious 12-year olds who enjoy a smoke and a swig of Stella of an afternoon, after all, who needs secondary education to get by in prison *ahem* life?
Famous inhabitants (or ‘denizens’ as they are sometimes known) include not, as the name of the town may suggest, painter Thomas Gainsborough, but ‘nipper’ smith, one of a faimly of smiths who gained his monicker through unusual use of a Stanley knife, which he is reputed to carry around with him at all times… including whilst out merrymaking in the local nightclub, that is THE local night club not because it is THE place to be, but the ONLY place to be… a club so rough that you have to have a criminal record just to work there, blue-collar criminals need not apply. Bizarrely, there are three schools in the area, one that doesn’t inform its pupils that ‘A’-levels are an option, one that specialises in woodwork, and a grammar school that is considered posh because its pupils are expected not to smell of urine. Whilst there is an abundance of wholesome, faimly-orientated entertainment to enage and enthuse the youth of the town, one small cinema (capacity 50 persons), a ‘mall’ (with four open shops in it), and a tennis club (quite pleasant, they provide free balls), the younger element of the town’s population prefer to indulge in the more fashionable chav hobbies of the day, boosting cars, shooting up heroin, and throwing fruit, wood and bricks at tennis-players.
So chavs and chavettes, if you have the opportunity to skip bail for the day and nip up to sunny west lindsey, be sure to visit Gainsborough, a wonderful town that caters to the needs of chavs everywhere, just remember to pack your scaff bar and you’ll be treated like a brother by the locals. After the ‘welcome’ fight, of course.
When looking for a place to bring up your next clutch of bouncing baby chav/ettes, look no further than Park Springs, a delightful little estate with charming wood-effect windows (an effect acheived by replacing glass with chipboard) on most of the beautiful town-houses in the area. Do you need a bag of blow or a quick fix to get you through the bank holiday? Never fear! there is at least one purveyor of exotic and illegal spices on every street, willing to sell at low, low prices to the newcomer (discounts available to under-14s). Local off-licences are packed full of Superstrength and Elephant brew, as well as the mighty Vladivostock ‘spirit drink’, which can also be used as emergency fuel in your suped-up Vauxhaul Nova.
While you’re in the area, you may like to check out the lovely surrounding villages, where there are always cars to steal, and locals to rob (a popular method is to get a battered old tranny van, fill it with fish from nearby skegness, and go door to door pretending to sell it. Daft villagers will soon tell you their holiday plans for the coming year and offer you a spare key so that you can come in and look after their dogs). Little London Caravan park, Torksey is a lovely place with colourful long-term residents like Big Frank, so called because his parents called him Frank, and he’s, well, big. The barmaid is a very friendly girl from nearby Scunthorpe, who offers her hospitality to any, if not every weary traveller (you don’t actually have to prove it by showing her your dog and its string). Scumthorpe (sorry ScuNthorpe) is a stone’s throw away, offering unemployment to those that seek it and cheap second-hand booze to those who already have it.
I think the comments by certain posters here prove the point about Gainsborough being a Mecca for Chavs.
Totally agree with the original poster on everything.
I constantly ask myself how the hell I survived this cesspool of a town. Fortunately for me, I managed to escape to Lincoln a couple of years ago. – although this is now chav-infested in its own right.
I seriously think Morrisey must have been visiting Gainsborough when he was inspired to write ‘William it was really nothing’ especially the lyrics ‘ the rain falls down on a humdrum town, this town will drag you down’ its not the town itself that will drag you down Moz its the total Chavwanks that live here after which they will put the boot in you 20 times before relieving you of your wallet, mobile phone and any other thing they can sell for drug money/white lightning.
A few years ago I had the idea that I would find a nice girl from the town to settle down with. After a few evenings out in Gainsborough (from henceforth referred to as Chavsborough) I soon realised that there are no nice girls in the town. They all left the first opportunity that came their way – and can you blame them. Whats left are bingo winged, saggy bellied, saggy titted, saggy arsed, shit Argos clown necklace wearing, tattooed, alcoholic Vicky Pollard clones. That say ‘sumthink’ instead of something, and ’nuffink’ instead of nothing. As you can probably guess, I gave looking for a nice local girl as there aren’t any. Oh and the ones that did stick around are usually on the arm of some neanderthal meathead or one of his cronies.
To the local multistorey car park where you can get mugged or seven shades beaten out of you for just being there. Lords pub which is actually more like a corridor than a pub – full of scumsucking pond life. Or the jewel in the sovereign encrusted crown White Hart hotel, where you can expect to get glassed or bottled and a trip to A and E for some stitches.
For the town to be a decent place to live, you would have to execute about 90% of the population.
Good riddance Chavsborough and all the fooking wasters within.
u wana shut ur mouth dickead or me n da bois r guna cum nock ya out n burn ya owse dwn n nik all ya wite litening cider m8 n ya cigs n if ya carry on da lads from dwn lane wil b afta ya
Beautiful. I actually laughed out loud at the urine and the grammar school kids. Brilliant.
I go to a school out of the town huntcliff,in kirton in lindsy.
because the description of the schools are true there pikey, and are full of chavs and gypos 2bh! i must admit the town is getting better, but its still rarther pikey and you can still by drugs off certain parts of gainsborough, its so obvious where they are the police dont care.
hmm, whoever wrote this. its perfect of the town.
nice piece of work. very articulate.
cheers
i LOVE gainsborough, i iz a chavette yer, n me nan n me 3 cuzins n ma aunt liv der, near cherry tree road, round der, n its well nice, id move up der if i dint av ta liv in sleaford. N as for richmond park! i played der all da tym wen i was a kid.awh da memorys
hey hu u call in chavs just coz me n my m8s hang around multi n tescos it dnt make us chavs……so make sure u no wot ur on about b4 u criticize us.
some chav sayings “lend us twenee pee”
“giza faag”
“fook”
“fookin bitch”
i ad a prosie wiv free teeths anging of of ma 1 inch nob
An wot do u cal a chav wearin white burrbury …. The bride!!
man i have to say, i have never been anywhere quite like it!!!! I have just relocated my business to the holy Grimmsborough and am enjoying a new and totally unique phase of people watching in my life…I have always enjoyed observing the quirks and traits of my fellow human beings, so imagine my joy when i stumbled on the holy Mecca of people watching and situational comedy….so far in the past ten weeks the following has occured :
on one delivery i was confronted with a half naked seventy year old(the wrong half) who apologised fornot being able to open the door because the post AND cat litter tray were in the way, and then proceeded to regail me with tales of his 22 CATS..
my totally pissed landlord staggered into my shop with a suitably adorned chavster, announced him as the saaalt of the eaarth, and said i should sort him out a “cushtie”price on anything he needed…3 hours later 12 of the laws finest turned up at a house three doors down from the shop, battered in the door and dragged out the occupant.YES…u guessed it, my landlords saaalt!!!!…smacked his missus allegedly…..surprised?…didnt think so…
I have the misfortune to need to display my wares outside the shop, a couple of weeks back i got out my car whilst a lurrrvley group of the brown checked massive passed the boutique(rara).As i went in, a liberty smellin, gum chewin,lambert and butler factory of a female chavessa hailed me in familiar tone…eey mate, how much for that one out here?..i politely explained it was the outside show model which had been rained on and allsorts….all of a sudden the snap on accessory on the end of the lead which i crucially didnt notice lurking on the end of her….boyfriend/husband/subhumans wrist, ambled up to my stock and relieved itself up the side, resulting in the all time response to such a situation….will ya sell it cheap now?
havin said that..the town is blissfully untouched by al the commercial bollox going on everywhere else…but i wouldnt put it in yer holiday destination check list just yet..not unless you is one of the clan that is:)
peace
lincsophile
When Betjeman wrote his famous poem Slough I have a strong suspicion that he wanted to write about Gainsborough, but couldn’t think of a rhyme for it.
I find myself at the moment in the unenviable position of living near Gainsborough. In fact, even worse than that, I escaped for four years to London and have returned here, now aware of a world where charity shops do not occupy every other position on the high street, fashion isn’t based on older brother hand-me-downs and a good night out isn’t judged by how much you throw up.
As much as the place is distasteful to me, it has become a Mecca for the younger breed of chavs before they graduate to Scunthorpe. Swaggering down the street hurling what I can only presume to be abuse in their guttural semi-language before spitting on the street, throwing up and becoming pregnant.
This is a town where a local Headteacher was quoted as saying that getting five GCSE’s just wasn’t viable for most of the children there. A place where the local theatre is so under patronised that I once went to a show where the performers outnumbered the audience. A place, and this is really disgustingly true, where I was in the local Wetherspoons and a man walked up to the bar, and urinated against it. This is the same bar where a man was held down and his lips were bitten off just a few weeks before the urination event.
Chav’s gather on corners, outside Tesco’s and in the multi-story carpark, and no doubt if it was possible to speak to them they would, if it was possible for them to be understood, claim that the towns lack of amenities was to blame for their behaviour. They might have a point, which for once does not have a handle attached to it. This town has little for them to do. But that is indicative of a lot of places.
This town could be great, it has the history, the architecture, two art galleries, a good local theatre, and soon to be completed a shopping centre including a Burger King (be still my beating heart). What will always prevent this is what I refer to as a scunthorpe attitude; the absolute hatred of anybody who you consider to be doing better, achieving more, or having breaks that you think have been denied to you. Regardless of whatever happens in the town, those attitudes will persist.
So;
Come unfriendly chavs and fall on Gainsborough,
If you’re 14 become a mother,
We’ve grass aplenty, so smoke another.
Swagger over, Muppet!