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.

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

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!