The feral packs of kids, the endless bass of the exhausts, the no go area that is Guildhall Walk, the eastern European thugs trading blows and insults and drug dealerships with the locals, the almost total absence of culture (Hornpipe Cinema, where are you when we need you), the North End Wetherspoons, the asbos, the dilapidation of Fratton Park where millionaire footballers drive away from the gloom to their pads in the countryside with the last few hard-earned tenners of the locals burning holes in their armani trousers, the fading splendour of the Southsea villas now carved up into bedsits for ‘transient gentlemen’ and behaviourly-challenged young people, the tiny numbers of beggars (like babies in an orphanage they soon learnt the futility of crying for help), the sewage pumping station that is below sea level, the historic dockyard with its head stuck up its historic arse, gunwharf quays, the students who quickly learn the value of avoiding eye contact, the Somerstown skyline in the day’s dying light, the murders, the crammed urban streets packed with four-wheel drives, the hatchet-faced young women, the horrified old men working in the newsagents, the cheap housing being built on every square millimetre of greenery, the football club chairman who thinks he’s Caesar, Fred sodding Dineneage, the endless rows of terraced houses, the diet of lager and kebabs, the shaved heads, the baseball caps, the stripey tops, the beerbellies, the knuckles, the sovereign rings, the white trainers, Pompey dots, the fights over cabs, the nervous-looking coppers, the sense of dread on every street corner, the tense queues in the One Stops, the drives to the country to escape only to find Leigh Park and Wecock Farm, the pounding of the waves that will one day drown the place, the pleading hope inside that somewhere in the town there are people who don’t find mindless violence funny, Paulsgrove, the muggings, the vandalism, the bi-annual footie-related misplaced patriotism fest that always, always turns into riots, the hatred of Southampton, the hatred of everyone else, the bastardised cockney accent, the kids swigging from lager cans, the tracksuits, the red faces, the baffled old people thinking death might not be quite so bad after all, the smell of dogs**t, the dogs**t, the look you get when buying a broadsheet newspaper and a bottle of wine that doesn’t come in a two-litre bottle, the stabbings, the slashings, the shouting, the racism, the crappy jobs, the grey factories, the drizzle, that f**king pointless £20 million tower they built 100 yards away from one of the most-deprived wards in Britain, the traffic lights that favour a non-existent flow of traffic, the empty libraries, the jam-packed bookies, Fratton Wetherspoons, the tailgating, those poor, brave cyclists, the white vans, the tatoos, the sailors, the endless drivel about regeneration (note to council: a tower block with a few bits of plastic stuck on it is still a tower block), the refusal to do any recycling, that strange orange glow you get in the evenings, the cctv, the concrete, the neighbours that won’t even make eye contact with you, the ordinary people looking to move to Fareham, Cosham Wetherspoons, the buses full of pikeys, Port Solent, Time and Envy, South Parade Pier, the sea, the sea…
Grew up there for 10 years and I’m surprised you didn’t mention the sh*thole neighbourhood that is Buckland! Or the chavvy secondary schools, or grimey little Hilsea. And don’t even get me started on the housing.
I guess Southsea is ooookaayyy but if you wanna live in Pompey, it’s best to stay off the actual island and settle for the outskirts.
leigh park is a highly respected area with great play facilities with a young reproduction rate which is good for the economy and is getting bigger and better each year who ever wrote this is a jumped up 2 bob cardboard cut out c**t
init blud
All u lot who have slagged pompey off come here and say that to us posh twats
If the experts are right, & because of global warming every coastal city will be underwater in 100 years time, then someone hurry up & invent a time machine so I can go forwards in time & watch Portsmouth disapear under the sea!
Thank god I dont live in that cesspit any longer, now in portchester ———-HEAVEN!!!!!!!!!
porchesters filled of gangster wanna bes with small dicks and even smaller brains
That was probably one of the funniest things I’ve ever read! Yet, at the same time brutally insightful and nightmarishly true!
I did forty odd years in Portsmouth. I’ll never forget the summers evening, as I strolled down Kingston Rd to my old local; I passed, in just a few steps, an empty Thunderbird bottle, in a shop doorway. The remains of a kebab, spread across the pavement. And then a used condom.
I remember thinking, right there and then: ” I’ve Got To Get Out!!! ”
Interestingly, I went to Hull. Place this site lists as the #1 s**t hole in the UK. Incredible! People of Hull; Ye don’t know ye born!
I found the locals amazingly warm and open people. Mate of mine visited me there and a near incident when we so much as ventured out for fish and chips graphically illustrated what vicious bastards *we* were! Like a pair of rabid Dogs set loose in a childrens playground.
Yet we both considered ourselves perfectly nice, decent, intelligent guys. Way above some of the scum of Pompey. We may have been. But, that city had still moulded us into barely veneered savages.
Portsmouth *Does That* to ye! Live ye f**king life needing to be prepared to run or fight at every turn? It’s only when ye get out and get amongst normal, nicer people that ye can look at yeself and realize what a wound up spring ye actually are.
I’m in Co. Leitrim now. In my cottage in the middle of the countryside. Keeping half an eye on my friend and neighbours cows, out there in the middle distance.
I’m the one that got away.
I grew up in Portsmouth and lived there for 25 years, its quite a hard town, but if your a man you should be able to look after yourself .
I also lived in Guildford for three and left the place because it was mainly full of rude self centred idiots , not many chavs there though & plenty of money , hardly any one has any manners though .
Now I live in Cowplain (just outside portsmouth) in a nice house and have good neighbours & its a nice place to live.
If you do come to Portsmouth people will hold doors open for you , help you push your car if it breaksdown and will be generally friendly , but if you piss them off they will punch you in the face
hard town!what compared to Trumpton?
Ah, Facebook brought me here.
Born there. Lived there mst of my life. It’s not for the meek. Had my fair share of scrapes and trouble.
Accent – the accent is bastardised Cockney, but not for the reasons you might think. It originated from the migration of dock workers when the Pompey dock yard was booming. Most of which were from London. This is why people with strong Pompey accents would get told they “talk like a docker”. The accent predates Mockney, and is actually part of the heritage of Portsmouth. It’s in no way a negative thing. What’s sad is how watered down it is these days. Best place to hear it is Leigh Park or Paulsgrove, the poor people displaced after the war. The accent is far truer with them.