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Sale: a town yet to discover that a used dorito packet does not constitute contraception.

Three things make Sale the place it is: the people, the town centre and the schools. Beggining with the people, one can easily understand why people lock their doors when driving from one end of washway road to another. The boys find lacoste shell suits from the back of a b-wise truck to be the height of fashion when accompanied by an oversized casio and some form of rockport. Their sidekick girl (aka chantell, charlene, ashleigh, maxine, chazzoh, karloh etc) come equipped with their wythenshawe-facelift-inducing side pony-tails. Preferring to don a drawstring AllSports plastic bag, with some assortment of “Von Dutche”. When united, one can truly abandon the use of words.

The town centre (otherwise known as HQ) is the bustling cosmopolitan backbone of the town. Comprising not only wilkinsons and Pound Land, but also the discounted delights of select seconds, help the aged and farmfoods. A direct quote from a local hairdresser when my accomplice sat to have her hair cut “do you want an ashtray luv?”. Sums it up really. The stench of Greggs and the butcher (who manages to avoid the most simple stands of health and safety) are dominant from one end of the ‘precinct’ to another.

Not wishing to dwell on retail, we should now progress onto education. There are fine establishments dedicated to the correct metriculation of the youth of Sale. Ashton-upon-mersey students are amoungst the brightest in Trafford, some boasting upto 2 GCSE’s. Others are satisfied with standing in roads and staring at incomming traffic. However, the school has comphensated for this health and safety hazard by equipping each teen with their own maroon and yellow blazer.

In summary, Sale is a town boasting a 24 hour Nail Bar next to a leisure centre with a 2 person sauna. The biggest excitement of recent years has been the “regeneration” of the previously mentioned precinct area. “fair enough” I hear you retort, afterall, my description hardly painted a desireable picture. Incorrect. I was describing post-rejuvination (and supercigs i may add) Sale. Rejuvination in essence meant a 10 foot gate which closes at 9pm to keep the select clientelle of the HogsHead out. Need I say anymore?

middlewich hmmmm Its full of the little fuckers oh sure its a small place but there is constantly ppl getting beaten up down town . The main place for them is bull ring drinking cidar and smoking and out side the local tesco .Another common area for chavs is the booth lane sk8 park commonly known as Oller Full off them ! taking up usualy the swings and the surounding area with there bikes and mopeds . Every time you try to go in to the tesco your constantly being pester to buy them fags or alcohol .I supose there fav hobby is shouting shit to people young and old as they go past the main targets are young girls on there own . And people think middlewich is posh we have a few shops in town about 3 tanning places 4 indians 3 chinese and a taky cheep clothing shop .

Now, if you were to say that Crewe is a chav/scally/townie infested crap hole, you would be comiserated as people would think you live there, such an accurate description of the place you just gave.

You see, there is an area of Crewe that falls under the post code of CW1. This is the breeding ground of the Crewe Scally, much like an ants nest, and most likely the Queen Scall has indeed given birth to most of the Scally population, much like her more civilised ant counterpart. CW1 covers many an area of Scallsville, such as the notorious West End. However, being as the combined IQ of such people can be counted on the hand of a Vietnam war veteran, the West End is not actually the west end. It is the geographical north of Crewe. Point proven I feel.

There is also the lovely Alton Street, home to the notorious (sic) Alton Street Army. There is currently a “turf war” between them and the West End Warriors. Its amazing what happens when McDonalds goes up for auction. The reality is that such gangs are simply three rodent-esque malnourished Elizabeth Duke ring wearing job centre regulars trying to give their life purpose. Normal people simply laugh at such statements of “gang wars” “Armies” and “Warriors”. And yes, both sets of “gangs” are probably cousins fighting over who gets to use the shower this month.

Where might you encounter such a creature? Well, any of the McDonalds or Nantwich Road takeaways (Subway is too upmarket for many the benefit scrounger here), sampling the world famous Razhmiks Kebabs, which had a Vet Centre conveniently placed next to it. Come to your own conclusion there.

Next, we come to their drinking holes. These are numerous, as the Scally phase is not a phase here in Crewe. It is the reality. We have the lovely Steam nightclub, known locally as STD Central. The only entry requirement being you have to be stabbed before entry. It is where the glitterati of Crewe strut there stuff amongst such luminaries as my mate’s Grandad, yes Steam really is a magnet for the youth of Crewe.

If you do decide to visit Crewe on a “Scally hunting” trip, I suggest you know what they look like. Usually slim and small, much like if you dressed a Romanian orphan in some shit covered Adidas trackies and adorned them with a fake Burberry cap from the market. Lets not forget the elegant Argos jewels and trainers stole from a Kosovo charity donation. Look out for their communication calls, then you can get a clear shot with your trusty blunderbuss whilst on horseback. They may say:

“On me muvvas” Translation: “On one’s mother” adj. to proclaim the truth, to verify a fact.

“Spaaak y’owt” Trans: “To render one unconcious” vb. to instigate violence, which the Scally will retreat from without fail unless all 800 cousins are with them.

“Y’got 20p mate naaaa?” Trans: “I need money to buy hospital treatment”
adj. what usually happens to a Scally after such violence is instigated.

“N’bed” Translation: “To have a penis on one’s cranium”
noun. How Scallies address their parents or themselves lest they look in a mirror.

Is there a happy ending to this story? Yes. Live in Wistaston. Its known as CW2. its where house prices go up, people are nice and pubs are generally enjoyable and its also an Independent Republic which endorses Scally hunts. What more do you want? A nunnery to post obscene things to? Wistaston has that too! Some come be free, and remember the Wistaston motto: Our land born free, all shall inhabit bar Scally.

One last tip: If you’re on a train the best part of the journey is when you pass through Crewe. Why? Because you’ve not got off there. Think about those poor souls that did next time you go past.