Kensington of the North, The UK’s Milan and England’s Barcelona are just some of the names used to describe this up-and-coming former textile town in West Yorkshire. Personally I prefer scally riddled s**t-tip. True, the bourgeoisie glory of parts of the city centre is a sight to behold, however this is a cruel aberration. Just a bricks throw from Harvey Nicks and Louis Vuitton lies an altogether much darker side. Designer chic gives way to Kappa s**te. Aston Martins are replaced by souped-up Novas and bulldog-faced fat slags and their smack-head boyfriends replace the long-limbed beautiful people of the cities Milanese arcades. If ever there was a case of a sows ear masquerading as a silk purse, it’s Leeds. Underneath all the rhetoric and the snooty bars, Leeds is chavscum central. Dare to venture into the city centre after dark and you get to see the real Leeds in it’s awful, head-stomping, blood stained glory. Inebriated fat whores, eff and blind their way from trashy bar to trashy bar, while rodent-faced arsewipes hurl obscenities at couples leaving the numerous swish restaurants. Amidst all the mayhem, dozens of crackheads hide in darkened alleyways waiting to pounce jack-the-ripper like on unsuspecting revellers. A night-out in Leeds is truly a must for those case studying gratuitous violence and depraved sexual conduct. Come daybreak after all the older chavs have smashed and vomited their way home, the younger breed of chavs venture out. The delightful neighbourhoods of Beeston, East End Park and Gipton are the perfect locations to see these particularly vile specimens. Twelve year old trollops resplendent in their Lizzy Duke earrings and Mr T chains, stuff Gregs pasties into their offsprings chocolate covered mouths. Meanwhile demonic gangs of stick wielding hooded scumbags prowl the streets looking for old folk and students to rob and throw in the nearest canal. Yes, Leeds has a unique and altogether more terrifying mutation on the urban chav, the psycho chav, and be warned, these can be female as well as male, although I use the term ‘female’ rather loosely. Bump into these c*nts and you’d better be able to fight like a Rottweiler with trapped knackers or run like cheetah with a banger up it’s arse. Damien from The Omen has nothing on these arseholes.