I’m not here to say Kingswood is a chav hovel, because it isn’t. I’m here to say what a nice place it is, the houses are built to a good standard. The pathways are relatively clean (paths are never going to be spotless are they? ). The people who live there, including myself, are well educated hard working people ( the chavs don’t live here as the dole amount won’t cover the price to even rent on kingswood) the school , Kingswood college of arts (which is unfortunately on branshome (i’ll get to that in a min)) is still a hell of a lot better than winifred holtby. The shopping and lesuire area of kingswood is also better than anywhere else in the hell hole hole of hull. The only problem is, its located right next to bransholme(one of the uk’s largest council/chav estates) and is near to orchard park (hulls crackhead smack head hovel) the scum from these estates scuttle over here to kingswood. the adults in the day so they can wander around asda and dream tha one day they will get a bonus in their dole that will allow them to buy a packe of crips from there…and to look at all the good people of kingswood and think “i’ll smash their e’d in one day …think the’re be”er th’n uz doo th’y? ” (well sorry to say, mekenzie lee burberry piss head, but…..we are better than you) then on the night the little toe rags and spaw of the adults mentioned above scurry over to “ave eh ni’ht owt wiv th’ ladz” …on the swings in the local parks.
You see…the problem with kingswood isn’t kingswood itself…..it the fact that its located inbetween the scum of the earth……dont you feel sorry for us??
By: I’LL F***ING KILL YOU

I cannot believe that this scumhole of the North has not yet been recorded as one of the worst chav towns in the entirety of the U.K. Halifax is a town that has, or should I say, used to have, the reputation of an honest, working man’s town, with everyone living in harmony, with very little trouble. However, following various recessions, and a lack of employment, a certain species of life came out of the dark cracks of society and reared it’s ugly head. This is the northern Yorkshire chav, and these tend to nucleate in the poorest neighbourhood of Halifax, Mixenden. On a weekday, you may not get so much trouble. The scum tend to stay indoors and drink, smoke cannabis or snort plant fertiliser using their dole money that the honest tax payer was obliged to surrender. The off licences, or offies as they are called in Halifax, are constantly out of varius alcohols such as Frosty Jack’s Cider, Kestrel and Skoll. All the stereotypical alcohols of choice of the chav scum that inhabit the area. On the weekend, trouble really does kick off. Such degeneration is rife, that even bus shelters are never spared. 

Wander into a park on a weekend evening. A common sight to see in Mixenden are bottles of cheap generic brand lager that are strewn on the floor, and old bags of cannabis and other drugs are found too. The smell of urine and cannabis hang in the air, and you can hear the local slurred dialect of the parasitic chav, maybe arguing, having mannerisms such as saying ‘swear down’ after every sentence, overuse of the word ‘innit’ etc. Beware of sitting on park benches; semen from the chavs or other fluids secreted from the chav vermin may still be present on the benches after a night of drunken sex in the park. Fine examples ae always seen on the Jeremy Kyle Show; if the people have a Yorkshire Accent, chances are they hail from Mixenden or any other similar Yorkshire breeding area. 

The chav demographic of Mixenden is similar to those of other infested scumholes of the United Kingdom. Male chavs from the age of 16+ tend to be found sitting on fences, smoking roll-ups, maybe with a bottle of White Star. The look in the eyes will be typical to that of the species, bloodshot and dazed. Women, once again 16+, are once again found smoking, with large ear piercings and tacky clothing, pushing along a baby stroller with a poor maldeveloped child inside (from drinking and taking drugs when pregnant). Odds are, the child will be eating a McDonald’s sandwich. Children can often be seen wearing tracksuits, and standing outside offies with money, begging you to go inside and buy cigarettes for them.

 When we consider Mixenden, we feel sorry for the country. These sponges ought to be rid of. My immediate suggestion would be to close off the areas, withdraw all alcohol and tobacco from offies in the locality, and perhaps sterilising all of the women. Only by this means will we be able to move forward.

By: davey

There is a place, not far from Chav Central uk (Darlington), that is an overspill for Chav’s called Northallerton.  On the surface it is a nice little market Town, and actually offers some very good retail outlets and lots of nice eateries, it even has a Bettys Tea Room.  If you were to visit this Town for the day, i suggest an afternoon, you would probably go home unaware of the deep lying social problems in this community.  Firstly, people are totally unashamed of walking down the street eating their ‘Greggsies’ on their way to ’Wilkos’ to meet their friends.  If you go 100 metres in any direction outside the high street youll become aware of an abundane of single mothers pushing their buggies, sometimes followed by a chav with a baseball hat and vest with a nice pair of tracksuit bottoms donning the latest Rockport boots.  Like most chav towns, Northalleron has the usual public houses and a nightclub called ‘Amadeus’, frequented by the hardcore element of chavs.  The chavs here think it is acceptable to go clubbing with their parents, who are usually in their late twenties, unemployed, seperated, a step parent, and from a long line of underachieving and uneducated lower classes. In Northallerton it is easy to spot the chav hierachy, the woman will usually have at least four tattoos, and always one just above their breast, classy.  The men will also have tattoos, they are ‘well hard’ if they have their name, sometimes with date of birth, on their neck.  Now chavs live in rented council houses or schemes with their entire family within a 500 metre radius, but will spend lots of money on large gold jewlery and earings despite not having a job    

By: Paul

Selby, what can one say, it is a culture shock, to anyone from Wiltshire or somewhere decent.This is probably the biggest shit hole on the planet.The knuckle scrapers are in the majority, and thick as doggy doo,along with loads of Poles who like fist fights, and ponsing around in BMW’s, or indeed anything German,[why do they come here they can't stand our country or most of its people], setting up their polish sausage shops, and they all think they look cool, and most of them resemble either the mafia, or more likely the Hitler youth, and are equally arrogant, and ten times as dense,they also belong in 1976.

Selby is ‘ey up Northern England at its worst, with the usual chip on the shoulder about any criticism and they are probably the nosiest bastards on the planet.

There are probably more people with deep rooted psycopathic tendencies than I have ever come across.The pubs are so rough that you feel like you may catch the pox just by stepping in one, and there is the usual smattering of yoof in sportswear, various ex miners who still rattle on about Mrs Thatcher having taken away their school milk, and closed ,”all’t pits”, and the sort of people that inhabit the old Hovis ads.

They  actually think that any criticism is ,”stoopid innit”, and that all people in the South, are, “wankers”, and responsible for why they spend their lives propping up the bar or filling tins of peas, rather than because their perspective on life is none existant or because they are too thick to read.

If you want a taste of Northern England, and every cliche in the book, then Selby is the supreme example of the epitome of that Hovis advert, I referred to.Even the estate agents and most of the so called professionals are chav or son of chav here, there is not only TK Maxx and Primark to go at, but the designer centre near York,[ which to be fair has some quality items, but this lot wouldn't buy them, although some might work there] and Zara is a great favourite too, for over priced cheaply made Spanish shit.

Go on pay a visit to Selby, and if you thought Surrey or Esssex ,Nottingham or Reading can be bad in parts, they are paradise compared to this ghastly little shit hole.

The cente of the town has one pub, all the others have closed it is such a shit hole.

The only passion is pissing about, vandalism, threatening behaviour, and ponsing up and down in those silly little hatchbacks.Christ, who would want to spend several grand on a bog standard Fiat or a VW, only to make it look like shit.

There is one or two areas where the scum reside, but the Housing Association responsible will hear no wrong.There are more baseball caps, huge Ali G style chains, and football shirts than I would care to look at, and lots of feckless slags who are too pissed most of the time to remember which uneducated knuckle scraper gave them a taste of shaft up the back passage.

These people are so stupid they think that they probably think that Descartes is an I phone application.The place has more thick Northern cliches per square mile, than one could wish to meet.The words hey up often pass their lips, but don’t come in to the town centre pub, and laugh, or look at them in the wrong way, or they will ,”ave you, you want some Dickhead”.To say that psycopathic tendencies arfe rife is an understatement.

The local school is inhabited by the kind of left wing drippy hippy that made everyone vote for Mrs Thatcher, and they let the little bastards run riot.There may be the odd one who will be a captain of industry, but not very many.What a dump.

If you want to discover what life was really like during neanderthal times then jump on a train and head to Goldthorpe, this south yorkshire shithole from the stone ages is so behind times even the Wright Brothers would be stunned. but lets take a look at this Libyan-Twinned town and discover the people and landmarks that make this place a dump.

Goldthorpe is easy to get into but hard to get out of, however if you are just visiting its always best to go in armed with a cricket bat or a machete which can be stolen from all local garden sheds in the South Yorkshire county. however if you are considering moving down here this guide will tell you all you need to know about becoming ”scum of the earth”.

As you arrive at Goldthorpe station its easy to see you are no longer in civilisation, the locals here dont like foreigners and you dont even have to come from another country or be a different shade of colour to be made aware of this, just as long as you dont speak ”BAARRNSLAY” will make Goldthorpe’s locals treat you like any other cotton picker day or night.

Walk down Barnsley Road and you will soon encounter Goldthorpe’s daily life, teenagers staggering up the streets f**ked out of their eyeballs on cheap co-op beer at 2.1% its all the aggression they need to pick a fight with the wall, another sight to discover is the queue at the post office every monday, thurs and friday, those dole cheques wont cash themselves and those cans of stella wont drink themselves so its best to get in the queue as soon as you awake from your cardboard box on co-operative street or when you are released from the cells after having a eventful night fighting in the Rusty Dudley.

Goldthorpe’s average life expectancy is around 35-40 years old so teenage pregnancy rates are sky high. If you are 13 years old and still not a parent then you are not the sort of person fit to live in Goldthorpe, its important as a young parent that you teach your ratboy or ratgirl the basics of survival. Make sure they know how to burgle houses and are experienced in robbery before their 12th birthday or their first court hearing (whichever is sooner).

As a teenage parent in Goldthorpe you also need a good education before you hit the high street and start spending those giros, make sure you apply for a council house as soon as you fall pregnant because you cant live at your parents anymore as mummy and daddy will lose THEIR sickness benefit and jobseekers despite dad’s part time job working at the pigeon club as a bouncer. Make sure you are fully experienced in claiming child benefit for all 6 of your kids and dont forget to claim those milk tokens you can trade these later on for a bag of cannabis and let your kids roam the streets late at night while you sit at home smashed out of your face.

When you choose a street to live on, try to engage in conversation with some of your neighbours, people in Goldthorpe arent used to friendly chit-chat and like to end the conversation abruptly with a curt ”ah’ll burgle ya fooking house later” before sauntering on their merry way to the nearest off licence for more stella.

Co-operative street is highly recommended for any chav wanting the low life and street fights more accustomed to the Bronx than a south yorkshire town, as soon as you move in dont forget to hang that england flag outside your window as this is a sure fire way to be accepted into the town that sent two BNP members to european parliament.

Being a different colour could present problems for you should you decide to move to Goldthorpe, kids are taught at a young age that ”NIGGERS AND PAKIS TAKE OUR JOBS” and the grown ups arent much better either but they are softies at heart and love everybody really for after a long days racist saluting and a tooting what better can a Goldthorpe BNP voter do than to go to the curry house on the high street and order chicken vindaloo then finish it off falling asleep listening to gangsta rap, they may not like you but cook a curry and you’ll be best mates for life.

Goldthorpe is visited often by the local police and you may soon be recieving a visit too especially if you want your moped back. Police in Goldthorpe have a calming effect on the locals, because if any trouble starts removing the beer and drugs from the offender is a sure way to restore order.

so there you have it Goldthorpe its a shithole and i wouldnt recommend living there but rest assured you have to see it to believe it ITS A CHAVTOWN

Holmfirth is a small town situated outside Huddersfield. It is ill served by transport links, but this potentially a good thing given the ‘people’ (and I use this term in the widest sense) who live here. If you manage to find a bus however, you might find yourself quite ill at ease with your fellow travellers. People have been known to talk quite loudly at the back of bus, ruining your enjoyment of  your Daily Telegraph and sometimes you can hear people playing music out of there phones with the most blatant disregard for their fellow passengers. But don’t expect the bus driver to do anything about it! They just seem to treat with mild amusment when you complain. I think here the law has just given up on Holmfirth.  The picture of the town during the day is a bleak one. The river is unkept, often you will see TWO plastic bags strew on banks. And this is a good day! Incidents of graffiti can be spotted in at least 3 or 4 places in the Town and surrounding area, and the authorities do little, with these eyesores often staying unremoved for days at time.  Weekend nights (and sometimes even the odd weekday!) are strewn with hooligans loitering outside the many establishments blatantly selling Alcohol. These are people of maybe aged 30-60 standing outside with a blatant disregard for street drinking laws. Often clearly intoxicated to point where they might even talk briefly to a stranger. All sense of limits in society just seem to have disappeared here.

But the worst thing is that this breakdown of society has been extensively covered in the media, yet nothing has been done. For years the BBC has been documenting the rural wasteland that is Holmfirth in the show ‘Last of the Summer Wine’. (Beginning at the title, which says everything about Holmfirth’s drugs problem). It documents the extensive contempt the citizens hold for the law. People often fishing without the appropriate licensing. Yet, faces aren’t even obscured because the perpetrators well know that Holmfirth is now an exclusion zone for the Fishing licence enforcement.   In 50 years time, people will finally realize how Holmfirth could have warned us of the impending breakdown of society. This is where it starts.

Ahh… Beverley. The quaint little Market Town nestled in the rolling hills—– I mean, abnormally flat, not-quite-so-rolling planes of East Yorkshire’s commericial farm fields (“Mekkin’ tatties fer Tesco!”) Not much to look at… yes, but still the locals spout it be the Gem of the North East. But let us not forget these locals of this wonderful little town – in fact – the whole slice of East Riding regard themselves to be completely seperate to the rest of Yorkshire so much, that it could even be its own Country! Anyone north, south, or west of Hull are practically foreign. Oh yes. The good, humble people of this little corner of the universe are passionately patriotic, and don’t like to travel anywhere that isn’t of their own land. Doing so would encourage terrorists, illegal immigrants, and the chance of mating OUTSIDE of their own family. Terrible.

Lets get to the nitty gritty. Beverley is a dressed up shit-hole. Ignore some of the pretty looking, historic buildings (most Beverley-heads do – unless said building gets converted into yet another big name chain-store) ignore the ancient Minister (most Beverley-heads do anyway) and ignore the scattered designer boutiques. All of this haughtiness has only pulled the wool over every outsider’s eyes – making the town look like a respectable, well-moneyed, and ‘Posh’ town. It isn’t. Behind every fur coat is an old tart with no knickers.

Beverley – even to its own occupants – is a shadow of their glorious, awe-inspiring Hull.

HULL! Re-knowned as the BIGGEST shit-hole in Britain – and thankfully this was officially aired across every television in the country in Britains Worst Places To Live. The WHOLE COUNTRY knows what a complete Cess-pit Hull is – EXCEPT Beverley. Yes… you see, Beverley deems itself to be part of Hull. Or wishes it was. If you happen to hear a Beverley-head mutter: “I’m off in te’ town!” – it means HULL town centre. NOT Beverley’s own town centre. This also, fascinatingly, is the same case as regards night life. In fact – Beverley is in such denial that it is a suburb of Hull – that it has even started to look as similar to Hull as it possibly can! Gone are the days of unique, independant shops… in with the big-dick chain-stores, making it look more like Hull, and more like any other clone-like town in the rest of the UK. Shopping is serious business in Beverley now, as it is in Hull – because if you aren’t “Graftin’ or shoppin’, like!” then there is f**k all else to do, apparently. Or, maybe get pregnant.

There is no room for creativity in Beverley. It simply isn’t welcomed, and is looked at as completely alien. There is no Theatre, or Cinema (only in their beloved Hull!) nor does it have an Art-centre of sorts – like most respectable towns have nowadays (and Beverley deems itself to be one of those.) If you are brave enough to engage in a conversation about anything creative whatsoever – brace youself for a long, confused silence… apart from the sound of chip-bag paper rolling past. It simply isn’t a grounded way to live, and it is all make-believe anyway. If you are to survive in life you have to be “Graftin’ and workin’ a real job!” – anything that isn’t 9 to 5 will make a Beverley-head stunned, confused, and potentialy aggressive. If you find yourself in this situation – just randomly shout “I hate black people!” and you’ll be met with an accepting smile (nearly).

Beverley, as mentioned, is a patrotic little jewel. While the rest of the UK, and most of the world look at the current war in Iraq as being an absolutely f**king awful idea –  Beverley doesn’t.  They ship off their sons at 16 to join the Territorial Army (“Our Jez is int’ Armeh! Proper job, proud o’ ‘im!“) – and celebrate the war with their ‘Heroes Welcome in Beverley’ scheme: where shops give discounts to the Squaddies that start fights in the Green Dragon every weekend, and who were the drop-outs and thugs of its local schools naught but a few years ago. But that’s not all, oh no. Watch the Beverley-heads turn up in their masses to cheer at these marching Leconfield Squaddies during the annual “WE SUPPORT THE WAR – IT WA’ A MINT IDEA TEH’ GO OUT THERE AN’ SHOOT THE ‘BROWN’ PEOPLE!” – otherwise known as: “Salute The Troops Day” …

Beverely also has a wonderful local paper – the ‘Beverley Advertiser’ – where it does just that – advertise. Page after page of adverts, it’s a journalism beauty. Between such pages of adverts are some actual articles – be it about the tradgedy of Betty’s tomato plant stolen from her allotment, or a plump, chav-faced, mousey-haired, no-way-in-hell-could-ever-make-it-as-a-Model (cat) fighting it out in Miss Hull  (Beverley is Hull, remember?) These being the best of the town’s ’Beauties’ it can offer…oh dear. Then of course, when it comes to any worthwhile report – such as a shameful crime that has taken place in the town: race-crime for example, it gets a tiny paragraph in the bottom right corner, next to the Second-hand-swap-shop section. This very weekend in fact – it was timidly reported that twenty five Beverley-head teenagers beat up a french TOURIST because of the ‘colour of his skin’ – and lots of other, adult Beverley-heads walked right past and did nothing (“Go ‘ann my son!”) That’s right. Beverley people beat up Tourists who come to admire their town. Bizzarre isn’t it? Unheard of anywhere else… but certainly not in good ol’ Beverley! Told you they don’t like ‘outsiders’ – didn’t I?

It isn’t a suprise that these little conveniantly hidden articles come out in the open some how. Take a walk down Toll Gavel on any weekday, it’s not a suprise to hear local old biddies discuss their racist opinions out in the open! Note the fact that most Beverley-heads all look the same, too: as well as the comman features, they have the same webbed fingers and feet… all results from inbred breeding. Beating up tourists because they look ‘foreign looking’ isn’t so shocking after all – when the towns-folk of Beverley are all related to each other. Just as stated above… Beverley-heads stick to their own, literally. If you are from north, south or west of this pinnacle of open-mindedness – Beverley – then you will be looked upon with a suspicious, queer eye. A witch-hunt with lighted torches and pitch-forks will be swiftly on to you! And if you decide to eat anything but carrots and cabbages, then you are a ‘Arab-shagger‘. Steer clear! Get out of their lovely PRO white PRO war Planet East Yorkshire – you red-headed, brown-headed demon!

Now, Leeds. There’s so much talk about how much of a cosmopolitan city it is. How the city centre hosts so much dazzling architecture. How it is a melding pot of all sorts of cultures, world famous, a conglomerate of various lifestyles. In fact, a list came out a few years ago with the 50 Most Deprived Areas Of The UK on it, and Leeds was nowhere to be seen. Obviously the person who compiled that list has never set foot inside the city boundaries.

So, I thought instead of writing something similar to the usual Chavtowns entry which reads along the lines of “yeah this place is full of chavs and they all smoke and they drink and swear and wear jewelerry and have kids at 15 and buy clothes from Argos and oh my god it’s a HORRIBLE place!” I thought I’d divide the city of Leeds into four quadrants, and give a guide to each of them.

Quadrant 1 includes the city centre. The A660 student corridor stems out of it, passing through the “student ghetto” of Headingley, Hyde Park and West Park and when it reaches Lawnswood, suddenly explodes and expands. It basically ranges along the A6120 Ring Road from Horsforth in the West to Roundhay in the East, and up to the North city limits. This is the nicest part of Leeds. Many affluent neighbourhoods such as Cookridge, Chapel Allerton, Moortown, Alwoodley, Shadwell, Weetwood, Rawdon and Meanwood are included. Not without it’s faults, however. Because it’s the richest side of the city, Q1 does attract the scrotes who come up for the rich pickings from the less priveliged areas. Burglaly and mugging does occasionally happen here. And not just from council estate scrotes. You have the occasional grammar school boys who don tracksuits and use slang and take up smoking. “Ere bruv, got a cig”, they usually ask in their soft North Leeds accents. But these occurences are rare in Q1 and trouble isn’t rife in these sleepy suburbs.

Moving onto Quadrant two. It begins in the Inner City slums, Little London and Chapeltown, which geographically should be in Q1 but they have the character of a Q2 place and moves eastwards through Burmantofts, Richmond Hill, East End Park and Cross Green, before spreading out across the not-so-pleasant parts such as Gipton, Harehills, Halton and Swarcliffe, as well as Seacroft which is the largest council estate in Europe. These places are notorious for crime. Tracksuit clad scrotes and tarted up young women, a lot of the time with pushchairs, are found milling about. The A64 has a job centre, conveniently placed, and if you want a close examination of the species who dwell in the outback of Q2, feel free to walk inside and have a look at the gypsies, tramps and thieves who are native to this region. There are a few decent parts of Q2 such as Cross Gates, Whitkirk, Colton and the further out Garforth, but the streets at night of these places have been taken over by the cider swigging pondlife at night. Q2 is definitely the time that land forgot.

Moving further South, we have Quadrant 3. Sandwiched between the westbound M621 and the River Aire running ease, Q3 is of a similar ilk to Q2, except Q3 has no decent areas. If you come in from the City Centre, the first place you will end up in will likely be Beeston or Holbeck, two red brick terraced slums housing smackheads and immigrants, as well as those bombers who blew up the buses and trains in London, and themselves of course. Eastwards are the notorious Belle Isle and Middleton estates, or “Miggeh” as the locals of Q3 call it. All times of day you see beligerent youths roaming the street in these parts, looking ten men. The furthest South part of Q3 is Morley. If you ain’t local, and you’ve never had sexual intercourse with someone who is a family member, they won’t like you. Visiting places such as Morley Markets and the White Rose Centre will give you a taste of what kind of creatures dwell in darkest South Leeds. The only good thing I can think of is that Q3 hosts Elland Road, home of the greatest football team in the world, Leeds United FC. But then Hunslet Hawks are also here, with the most bitter fans in all sport.

Go up past the M621 from Q3 and you end up in Quadrant 4, which extends as far north as the A65. Very mixed part of Leeds. On the whole the areas are generally pleasant. Wortley, Rodley, Calverley, Kirkstall, Farnley and Burley all have a reasonable reputation. On the flipside, Q4 is home to some of the worst parts of Leeds. Bordering the city centre is Armley. If proof be needed that evolution hasn’t entirely occured, pay a visit. All kinds of sub-creatures wandering about Armley Town Street, smacked up grannies and delinquent teenagers. Home of HMP Armley, where most of it’s residents aspire to be. Further up the A647 you end up in Bramley. A place which presents itself as a historical village, when really it’s an amalmagation of some of the most wretched sink estates. The Broadleas, Fairfields, Raynvilles, Gamble Hills, Outgangs, Landseers, Ganners. A total freak show. And across the river is the Hawksworth estate, a place no one would dare to visit, day or night. On the furthest edge of Q4 you have Farsley and Pudsey, the two places I swear The League Of Gentlement took inspiration from. Visit either of these inbred towns and you’ll see what I mean. Q4 is the closest part of Leeds to Bradford, a place which is a whole different kettle of fish and beyond any redemption.

So, in summary, Q1 is brilliant, definitely the best part of Leeds where run-ins with chavs are less frequent than others. Q2 and Q3 are beyond hope, pay a visit to these two quadrants and you pay a visit to the land before time. Q4 is decent in parts but the bad parts, really are horrible.

“Leeds – The pride of Yorkshire” – The jury’s out on that one…

I agree with the opening posters view of Hull, it is a first class shithole and thats all it ever will be.
I was fortunate enough not to have been born there so I do know the difference between good and bad, the cause of the degeneration of that particular cesspit lies firmly with the so called fishermen of yesteryear when it was a bustling fishing port, the fishermen were ignorant oafs who knew no better and encouraged their offspring to follow in their footsteps with the females going into the fish factories, I mean, what did you need an education for if that was your aim in life? those same children are now the grandfathers of the uneducated scum that prowl the streets today, everything from the top down is rotten in Hull, to say that there are some good people there is like saying there were some good Nazis in Germany during the second world war.
Other places mentioned like Portsmouth, Rotherham and Middlesborough as being equall to Hull are way off the mark, I spent time in all of those places and can honestly say those people feel sorry for the “hully gullies” but only because they have never been there.
Those who try to defend Hull are the vermin that these posts are aimed at, it is a manky little hovel that the gene pool has forgotten and never likely to revisit, to call that scum retarded is a compliment.