If you ever drive on the A14, make sure you never turn off the road at the junction for Bar Hill, it is populated with the biggest inbreeders in Britain and there is f**k all else to do apart from go to a giant Tesco, the Fox pub or shag your sister.

I’ve spent the majority of this year down in this area staying in the nearby Moat House/Menzies hotel (the staff are just as slow witted and slack jawed there, apart from the foreign workers). When you come off the roundabout you see the sign “Bar Hill” with “Royston Vasey” scrawled underneath it which gives you a god idea of what you will encounter. The Fox pub is the chaviest pub in this area apart from the Regal in Cambridge City Centre. It is full of pot smoking Burberry clad boy racers playing pool with Gold Chains pretending to be the local hard knocks using the usual expressions like “innit” and “cushty” like they are all big streetboys from London – rentboys more like.

There are a few local bikes in there, one short blonde bird with massive tits offered to come back to my hotel one night – i politely declined when i realised that virtually every boy racer in the pub had banged her everywhere and I may get some inbreds’ disease from her. The pub entertainment consists of arguing over pool, crap food which to the local inbreds seems to be like the Ivy as they lap it up and treat going for pub food like a massive event. The big screen was taken down as the local mongs kept fighting over the football. This would be normal in a place where there are 2 big rivals like Liverpool, Manchester or Glasgow but all the boy racers are plastic Man U or Chelsea fans who have only changed sides during the close season. You have DJ Ron, a cross between Phil Collins and Micheal Bolton who always tries to rip off the dim witted locals with his expensive raffles during his quiz night – another massive event that normally takes place on a Thursday. You have a couple of fights in there which aren’t very scary because the locals are a bunch of faggots who can’t fight properly, usually over their birds who’ve decided to shag another boy racer from the area.

I had the misfortune of being chatted up by a local slapper once who proceeded to tell me her life story, she’d married 3 brothers of the same family, and 2 of them had kids with her sister, her mate had just got divorced from her cousin who had been married to another one of her relatives, confused yet? – so was I!.

I think they put Tesco’s there to stop everyone shagging each others’ mums and sisters to be honest. However, it hasn’t really worked, they’ve recently opened up NEXT there as well to stop them doing it – what next?, a prison would help but then the men would just shag each other in there. There’s nothing else much of note really in this weird little corner of Cambridgeshire apart from a petrol station, a skateboard ramp and an industrial estate. No wonder the house brices are so cheap compared to Cambridge City Centre.

Alas, not a town yet a village. Was once a peaceful village in which calm people such as myself could relax, but then the chavs (known as townies to locals) took over, they destroyed many things which had been standing for many decades such as war memorials. The main places for chavs in this village is at the main recreational ground where they like to attempt to socialize with each other with loud grunting like sounds. The main ,ahem, dress code is tracksuit bottoms with bottoms tucked in white socks. A hooded top is a must. They have caused havoc to many villagers, the police have been involed many times yet with no advancement in the removeal of the chavs. I have managed to understand some of their speak : "Po po" means the police, "bear" means a lot of. So this could be used to say "there was bear po po out last night, y’know, innit?" – translate as there was a lot of police out last night, you know, isn’t it? The chavs are mainly 10-18 year olds.

Beware of the Fen Ditton "Crew" as they call themselves, but we all know they mean we a load of prats who need to get a life…

night club, venue, bag -a- poo…
Continue reading “wisbech” »

To start with, Peterborough is located in Cambridgeshire. as with every other town in cambridgeshie, peterborough is 100% infested with chavs, foreigners and travellers. there are many parts of Peterborough, and each part has different species of scum. there is the Welland area, which only one English person lives there. everyone else is either portuguese or albanian or bosnian. chavs engulf this place by day and night, and hang near the Welland Primary School. a second place of peterborough is Werrington. round this place people are constantly in fear of the ‘Players Crew’, who think it is highly hilarious to torch cars and burn themselves in the process. this chav gang hang around werrington centre, smoking weed every day and terrorising the innocent folk of werrington. thirdly, there is Walton, the area in which the lovely council street belongs to. every single day a copper is called down to this road, because someones either done is wife in with a hammer or got caught giving five year old kids marajuana. (actualy i’m exaggerating there – they are probably under 3) there are houses set on fire regularly, and there isnt a single front window intact down the whole street.
also there is gunthorpe, dogsthorpe and the ortons. these are overrun with travellers, who are all inbreds, rather like the bretton area, with everyone there inbred as well. paston is probably the biggest dump in the world, closely followed by Orton Goldhay. these both have drugs in the hands of kids every night – kids of parents who are too god damn lazy to get off their fat arses and would rather have a dozen kids to work for them and get paid hundreds of thousands in benefits which WE pay for.
if you head closer into town, with areas such as millfield, new england(cough) and westwood, you will see more foreigners than you will have ever saw in your life. they say new england- if i was mayor i would change it to new pakistan. that is the same with westwood and millfield. there are about 2 churches in the whole of the city centre, yet there are 4 mosques!!! wot the hell is happening here???
if you slowly move out of the centre, you will find fletton, which is plagued by more foreigners, this time italians.

if any of you think this is harsh, remember i was born and bred in peterborough, and these are my personal views and the truth. DO NOT VISIT PETERBOROUGH!!!

Ramsey, Huntingdon Nr. Peterboro’

The ‘Near Peterborough’ bit should give you some kind of idea of what this place is like. To be honest, it should be a case of, “ ‘nuff said, I’ll never go there ever, thank you very much.”
However it’s gory details that you want, and to some extent, what you’ll get.

My memory of this place is a little bit sketchy, but I can recall all the salient points I need to make with stunning accuracy. Just recapping on what goes on in this place (to me at least) isn’t poking fun; it isn’t comedy; it’s therapy.
Just thinking of this dirty little chav infested shit hole is enough to make me want to run upstairs and have a bath. Thinking of its inhabitants makes me want to blanket bomb the entire f**king place.

The entire place seems to be a single mothers refuge on one side, and a Barry-boy bolthole on the other. The two parties only ever seem to cross into the others territory in order to spawn or for a quick bunk up – the bunk up always seems to result in a baby chav (why are chavs so f**king fertile?)
Mr Chav can always be referred to as a Barry-boy (being in possession of a barried-up Mk. II Fiesta), this, I am told, is due to the local influence of the offices of Max-Power, Revs and Performance Bike magazines.

The mummy Chavettes seem to range in age from 14 to 55, all dressed the same (I no longer feel I have to point out in what attire), and all dragging around very similar looking snot encrusted urchins. The female urchins, it would appear, always seem to need a piss whilst being dragged around the village. Mummy Chav will have no qualms about pulling the childs knickers around her ankles, in full view of anyone, and letting baby chav piss freely in the street. This is also done almost without fail on a sloping area of pavement, just to let the piss flow in a pattern of chavvy expression.
You will not fail to see the phenomenon during a stay longer than a week.

Where is the Chavette dragging her little kiddy? To the ‘Rainbow’. Now this place isn’t a pub or crèche or anywhere like it may sound. No it’s the f**king Co-op. Why it goes by the name ‘Rainbow’ I don’t know or even f**king care. It’s the Co-op, calling it something else seems to me like trying to polish a turd.
Nothing wrong with this place, just don’t be in the same pub drinking when it’s their staff night out.

If you do venture to one of the various pubs you will be confronted with the Chav sooner rather than later. He will be the usual f**k-witted moron, with the baseball cap and the acne. He will be keen to bum a cigarette of you, despite the fact he’s got most of a 20 pack in his pocket- you will know this because he will feel no shame or awkwardness in revealing the fact to you at some point later on in the evening. (This wont be intentional, he’ll just get out his fags without even thinking).
The Chavette accompanying the chav will, at some point, either kick-off with him and have a full volume row in the middle of the pub; or go off in a huff to the toilets and have full volume piss and moan to her fat mate. Or both.

When not out drinking, the Ramsey chav will be riding around on his 50 cc motorbike that’s about as quick as an electric wheelchair, but he’ll think he’s f**king Eddie Kydd. He’ll be high on some kind of drugs too.

The real pisser about these people is that they are such brass-necked f**king scroungers – all of them bar none. They will all try and beg off you anything that can be considered a commodity amongst the community (all chavs). They almost can’t help it, like it’s some kind of compulsion.
If you notice the local women, they all do as much as they can to avoid paying for anything. They will scrounge off their boyfriends, husbands or even total strangers. These women would suck off a hobo’s dog for a double bacardi and coke.

Something else worth a mention is this: A few years ago the local mafia was run by, of all people, the ice-cream man. [I’m not f**king making this up either] I had the fortune to witness a resident mother purchase a ‘99’ and then talk about the possibility of the guy organising a ‘hit’.

Get to Peterborough station, and buy the first ticket to anywhere.