Stockport is so full of chavvy kids wearing tracksuits, speaking slang and genuinley acting menacing. I cant even walk down the streets without coping an earful from some chav.

Just because I am individual like everybody else these people intimidate me. If I want to paint my lips black and wear pagan symbols I shouldnt have to feel intimidated walking past people in the street wearing sportswear and speaking slang…. teh chavs.

They are obviously disrespecting my individuality by being so poor.

Seriously there may be a legitimate greivance with many individuals but the way this website obscures the boundaries between relevant criticism and just plain hate against a different social group is made even more pathetic because most posters beleive they have a genuine greivance.

Gorton Is Not The Worst  I Have Live Here All My Life

It Got Better Over The Years When You Tell Someone Your From Gorton They Back Away From You And Say “SORRY ” Like It A Bad Thing Well It Not I Like Liveing Here

It What Part Of Goron You Live If You Keep To Yourself  Then Your Fine

But I Wish People Posh People Stop Going On About It Like They Do

There Are Worst Place To Live Them Here

So Get Over It

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Admin: I’ve published this article, so our regular readers can play ‘spot the full stop’. I wonder if there is a Firefox plugin that can automatically capitalise the first letter of each word for you as you type?

Well what can i say about hyde gee cross its population is filled with smack heads asbo teenagers smelly old drunks and pakistani people that cant speak a word off english .

To start with – The smack heads well you will normaly see a smack head in the town center of hyde asking you for 20p what then goes up to a pound or they will be running pushing there newest robbed mounting bike to the nearest phonebox to ring for there bag they will probley be wearing a cap trainers from the 90s and clothes they have stolen from outside the charity shop the night before it will normaly be around 9 or 11 am when you will see one after that you might see one around midnight to early morning when they are mooching round your garden robbing you blind if you see a smackhead with your stuff they have just stolen they will automaticly tell you they found it. nearly all of the smackheads round hyde will be hopping about because they have DVT from all the drug use.

The asbo teenagers – well the asbo teenagers are most often called Jodie Chelsea Charlotte Nicole Lauren Amy or sophie As for the boys they could be called enything from JJ Yoges or Diddy the asbo teenagers CHILL on the tracks the cemertry the market any were and every were they can basicly they are allways pissed up in there henleys jumpers with the pants tucked in there socks that is if they havent got there bedware on the girls look like umper lumpers and a few of them wear the hair like amy winehouse if not they will have there hair scraped back with a greasy fringe scraped to the side of there forheads and a scruffy bun on top off there head with bits hanging out all over the place these teenagers usualy go about bragging how theve slept with 20 or more people at the age of 15 or 16 and are usualy in a big groups screaming  abuse at the community or at eachover most off the time they have weeks old makeup on and just keep putting more layers on. also they will have a 3 liter bottle of whitestorm each followed by a spliff hanging out there mouths.

As for the pakistanis and the drunks well the pakistanis just go around spitting all over the place and selling drugs to the teenagers and  smackheads hyde dosent look like a town in england it looks like a town in india they think most the areas are there TURFF and white people are not alound in there TURFF or they will gang beat you up and then the drunks sit with the teenagers on the market or were they find them and then will go in the shop for the teenagers 17 liters of cider and then the teenagers will end up fighting usualy with the drunk then they will all get arrested and will be back out in no more than 6 hours to start it all again.

The once proud town of Bolton is now a sewer. No one sews any more as the textile industry was exported along with any other worthwhile jobs and all that’s left to knit lies festering underground. Even the soccer club ain’t in Bolton anymore, fobbed-off to some marsh probably owned by Council chancers before the planning permission, who them scooped up town centre property to build gentrified flats in the devastated town centre. Most youngsters spend their time drunk in Bradshaw Drain or drugged-out on the tributary estates. We have a university proud to be only the fourth worst in the country and a hospital climbing the high-death rate tables at a speed similar to that of the Wanderers’ demise.

Newton Heath, put simply, is the arse-end of the world.

There are a lot of piss stained, beer soaked swillings of towns reviewed on this site but I can honestly promise you, they are nothing compared to the blight on the UK that is Newton Heath.

Situated in the North of Manchester, it is perilously close to other “respectable” neighbourhoods such as Moston, Clayton, Gorton and dare I say it, Miles Platting.  Truth is, if you can get off the bus on Church Street without getting mugged you’re a better man than I am. In fact, if you can get onto the rotting, shit stained Bluebird single decker in the first place you’ll be lucky.  Getting past the twenty or so 16-year old single mothers with prams in the disabled area can be quite a nuisance, especially at peak times.  And if you do manage to get past the smoke-smelling, pink-tracksuit and crop-top wearing louts to the rear of the vehicle you’ll inevitably get the seat next to the pissed old scruff who’ll definitely try to touch your leg.

The aforementioned Church Street, which is Newton Heath’s chewing-gum and chippy wrapper strewed main street, has a variety of shops for you to choose from during the day and a host of nightlife outlets of a night time.  Netto, which shares a building with Iceland, hordes the majority of the Giro-wielding scumbags who can’t afford to go to the LIDL a little further down the street.  This yellow peril has blighted Newton Heath for years, and only seems to be getting more popular as Iceland across the pathway loses out.  If supermarkets aren’t your thing, try the ‘60p’ shop, which retains its name even after nothing is actually sold at 60p anymore.  But this eternal symbol of scumbag-isation still stands sandwiched between a bookies, a pawn shop and a Greggs. A perfect line of outlets for any discerning day-to-day Chav.  Many Newton Heath-ers will spend every Monday blowing their Dole money on the Irish Lottery, pawning their mothers old family heirlooms for cocaine followed by a trip to Greggs for a dog meat and potato pasty.  And when their screaming little shit they have in tow won’t shut his fat little face, they’ll buy him a throwaway lighter from the 60p shop to keep him occupied.

As for the nightlife, Newton Heath boasts a great many beer swilling joints, namely the Railway, Culcheth Gates and several on Church Street itself.  Each one is as grotty as the last, and each one is run by a fat old woman who sleeps with a baseball bat at the side of her bed every night. And one of the punters in it.  Even after the smoking ban, you can walk past the doorway of one of these hateful sin-bins and get high from the cloud of marijuana fumes escaping from inside.  The local Working Mens Club has actually installed a kind of ‘open air prison cell’ right outside the front doors, so you can watch the Tetleys-drinking old men perving on your girlfriend (or mother) as you wait for a bus at the stop outside it. Speaking of which, the council recently tried upgrading this lowly bus stop with a new shelter for Newton Heath’s extensive Granny population. I don’t think it’s ever had any glass inside it, however. If it has, it’s likely to have been nicked to replace someone’s council house front window.

The locals of Newton Heath couldn’t be friendlier. Swarming with ‘Trespass’ black-waterproof tracksuit clad thugs; I wouldn’t bother asking for directions if you’re unfortunate enough to get lost in Pooton Beef.  There’s a local rivalry between the three main high schools of North Manchester, namely the Girls School, the Boys School and St Matthews High School.  The Boys school frequently beat up the Girls, and St Matthew frequently get beaten up by both.  The 677 school bus is the stuff of nightmares; I’ve seen horrors on there which should never be released into the public domain.  It’s not just the youths, though. Indeed, most of the thuggery hanging around on Newton Heath’s estates are between the ages 20 – 40, some even older.  Drug dealing is rife, the wardens are corrupt and the police simply don’t give a shit.  Dogs are used as currency in areas such as the Troydale estate. The bigger and rougher looking, the more they’re worth.  Poodles, for example, are roughly equivalent to 1p in monetary terms.  Trading a dog for food or sex is also commonplace.  Sex with the actual dog, too, can probably seen after dark down some of the more downtrodden alleyways.

Finally, I come to the local culture of NH.  If you don’t wear a pair of Nike Shox, you’re homosexual.  If you don’t shag somebody before you’re 13, you’re gay.  If you impregnate a teenager, you’re classed as a local hero and may even attract your own gang of thugs.  Certain areas, such as Brookdale Park and Scotland Hall Road are no-go areas unless you drive an armoured vehicle. Do NOT drive anything less around Newton Heath. At least, if you take pride in your car any road.  It WILL get broken into.  No doubt about it.  All children in Newton Heath are brought up on a diet of chippy teas, weed and Carlsberg, the latter two of which can be bought from California Wines on Culcheth Lane.

There’s a level crossing at the bottom of Berry Brow in Newton Heath.  Trains run every 30 minutes through this crossing.  If you happen to accidentally venture this way, it’s certainly better to end your journey by waiting for the Manchester Victoria service to squash you to a pulp.  A lot better than walking through Newton Heath.