Bransholme, or BransHole as I prefer to call it, is one of the largest council estates in Europe and is situated in the arsehole of England, Hull, or ‘ULL if you emanate from that region. In 1642 Hull became famous as Sir John Hotham closed it’s gates on King Charles and told the king to “fhuk off you ain’t enough Bizzell”.
The gates remained shut on this isolated Town and centauries of inbreeding have given us this remarkable city. To the north of Hull, Bransholme is known as home to thousands of third and fourth generation Chavs.
The schools in this Estate are more like transition camps as kids progress towards their future lives in Hull infamous Prison. Parents are keen to see their kids do well and often involve them in their family businesses from an early age. In fact you would hard pressed to find a kid that can not out run Oscar, the Police Helicopter, or hotwire a car in under ten seconds.
The Estate has a weird culture for naming their children, it seems you take the names Billy, Booby, Joe or Ellie and pick two for a Christian name and pop them down to the local vicar is anything silk by Von Dutch or Fila.
The middle of the estate is a shopping complex know as the “Senner”. Parents congregate is various Burberry attire and double buggies filled with Bobby-Joes to swap stories of their recent muggings, twockings and to nick as much as they can before being chased out by security.
When you enter the centre you are fairly impressed with it’s lighting and cleanliness, there are even two banks in it, staffed with burley bouncer type cashiers, but as you walk through you slowly realise you are in another world, the land the gene pool forgot. Pensioners on electric scooters race up and down the main thoroughfare reliving the twocking accident that “robbed them of their pins”. The other customers include many gannies, though women tend to be gannies at the age of 30 on Branshole and their numerous siblings that meet up for ritualistic interfamily slagging contests and general gang warfare. If you are on your own these mutants will glare at you looking for any sign of weakness before they collectively remove you all your worldly goods.
However, despite the low life people are still tempted in for the bargains. On a Saturday afternoon you can get a bag of nearly rotting veg for just a pound and meat that would make your dog vomit for even less. This can be thrown together and fed to “the bairns” thus leaving the parents with enough money for the weekly supply of baccy, Becks and 20/20.
Branshole is a national contender for Chav Central and a small thermonuclear devise could put a significant dent in the national crime figures and income support payments.