They tried so hard with Middleton. Back in the day, they built one of the first ‘Arndale’ centres – people flocked for miles around to sample this new, modern, concrete environment. They put flowers and benches in the precinct, built a community centre, investments were made and the future was bright.
But there was one problem, the council houses were just too close by – a haven and a mecca for the poverty stricken underclass who have made it their own: Langley estate.
A no-go area for all but the Chaviest pikeys, and witness to more stabbings, shootings and ford Fiesta soupings then anywhere alse in the North West, bar Salford. The place is complete with it’s own drop in centre – busy daily handing Methadone/morning after pill cocktails for all pre-pubescent chavettes. The streets here are littered with needles, burn outs and dead staffy dogs.
When the Charvster hangover subsides, a trip to the town centre is on the cards; to join the chav gangs hanging around in smoking competitions, vying for the kudos that comes with finding the most extreme technique in sucking the living daylights out of the smuggled ‘tabs.’ A combination of cultural evolution and extreme poverty has resulted in a highly complicated ‘fag share’ scheme – but when this fails, an intimidating approach to an office worker on his lunch is made: “eeyar mate got a fag or what mate eeyar?” The accent of these people canot be explained – a faux Manchester drawl quite different to the normal people living only half a mile up the road but a standard met by all chavsters as consistently as the tracky pants and the Rockport boots.
The Arndale itself has a strangely intimidating fairground atmosphere, the flavour of the shops is pound shop/fetid meat with the majority of units empty. The only thriving business here is ‘Stolen from Ivor’ – a clothes shop specialising in the Chav brand uniform. In this, their natural habitat, keep your head down and move quickly, your non-Burberry outfit will mark you out as prey for the peasants bent on nicking your mobile; eye contact is a no-no, become the grey man and think stealth.
Mid afternoon the Chavs will head over to Wetherspoons to join their fathers (who have been there since 11am) in drinking themselves to a frenzied stupor. After some gratuitous community violence, it’s back to the midden for a violent clash with the family, rip off your police supplied Chav tag and then back to prison next day for breaking your ASBO.