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lord of the flies (Cosham, Portsmouth)

Posted on: April 15th, 2009 by admin 21 Comments

where do i began…well stopping laughing is the first step… description of cosham is so true its ironic ..we are not the only ones who have noticed..
norf eynd..(north end to anyone else) -
attitude = bullies, arrogant, rude, liars.
fashion = primark, peacocks, matching plastic handbags to cheap shoes and bags. creole earings from birth bought from argos to be pawned lots of times for their special brew in the morn.
language = innit aintcha swe`eties (silent t) wotcha whateva and any profanity you care to think of. caveman new more words.
hairstyles = pompey facelift for the females (shows off the creoles so nicely in the sunshine..bling bling!) same for the babies..so tight they have permanent headaches and bald patches ,,,children not allowed to complain,,recieve a good slap if they do!
males = caps which covers most hair but is allowed to curl out anderneaf (underneath to you and i)
diet = tennents special brew stella and cheap vodka..lambrini .. for special occasions lambrini cherry and kebab to be vomitted or strewn around the streets and im 20p short can you let us off
pets = any animal that makes them look hard..accessorize with studied collar and allow to mess the pavements
education = what they can claim and who is knocking off who or who `mashed` who on saturday night! knowing which is their left hand and which is right
family = mother the local bike arse wider than the bus so dont cross the rd behind these classy ladies father tattooed with `pompey` dots and portsmouth football club shield on calf. every other word beginning with f and ending in k
names = chelsea mercedes chardonnay tiffany ryan liam and any name that makes the scum sound like millionaires.
highlight of the week = primark peacocks saturday night drinking in the carpark getting giro through the post waking up not pregnant
employment = stealing cheese and bacon pawning argos gold selling anything they dont need shoplifting from peacocks and primark, mcdonalds on payday.
thats just an outline of the grandmas grandads parents babies etc, inbreeding having been rife and the after affects are still being felt today..normal people entering an abnormal twilight zone that sucks you in but does not spit you back out..trapped in a world that society has forgotten..lord of the flies..its a dog eat dog world and if you are not a rockweiler or staffy then you are nothing but a pimple on this pus filled island…inbreeding of dogs sold for 100`s is unregulated…but its an income and im sure they are paying taxes on this little venture… just to finish i have already warned my children that if we havent managed to leave this hell hole we volounteered to come to then i will lock them away forever if they think they are marrying someone who is a direct decendant of inbreeding then they need to think again..i will do time!!
finally portsmouth should come with a HEALTH WARNING: ENTER AT OWN RISK…IT DRAGS YOU DOWN AND SUCKS YOUR VERY SOUL FROM THE DEPTH OF YOUR BODY! ITS A HORROR MOVIE IN DANGER OF IMPLODING…OUTCOME …CHEAP KNOCKOFFS MIXED WITH GIRO CHECKS AND KEBABS SPLATTERED EVERYWHERE…LEAVING THE COUNCIL HOUSES STANDING AND THE OUTSIDERS ALL GONE..AN UGLY PLACE WITH UGLY PEOPLE!

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Rating: 8.2/10 (14 votes cast)

Rating: +3 (from 3 votes)

The Hole that is Fareham

Posted on: January 29th, 2009 by admin 7 Comments

Fareham located halfway between the port cities of Southampton and Portsmouth. With the current government insistance of prision overcrowding a wall around Fareham would be a perfect place for a new super prision. A good motto for Fareham would be ‘We were born here, whats your excuse?’ Its a town of ugly people who generally waddle when they walk. The nightlife in Fareham conists of low grade bars filled with low lifes whos idea of a great night is a pint and a fight due to mosts inability to handle thier alcohol coupled with their drink of the wife beating beer also know as Stella. Chicago Shock is the closet venue that resembles a night club(well its open later, you pay to get in after 10 and its full of mutton dressed as lamb). On a warm day you can sit by the creek and enjoy the smell when the tide is out if you haven’t already been robbed by a junkie. If you do find yourself in Freaham dont even bother clicking your heels saying there’s no place like home because people will asume you’ve just been released from the local hospice or clinic. All in all if you enjoy nice places try anywhere other than Fareham or you may end up getting stuck when the wall is finally built. But hey at least there is a McDonalds and a pirates bounty of Kebab shops to help you bust a gut.

Rating: 3.2/10 (5 votes cast)

Rating: -3 (from 3 votes)

Basingstoke’s bad publicity

Posted on: October 31st, 2008 by admin 6 Comments

Well, everyone seems to have something bad to say about basingstoke, especially the popley area. My family have lived in popley for a long time now and i have to say it’s not as bad as some people make out. John Hunt school was where me and my aunts and uncles attended and yes it wasn’t the best school but i hte how people put it down all the time. As for chavs.. yes there are a few and it’s undeniable that they’re not horrible little pieces of crap. But not ALL are. I’m emo/rock/scene/biker whatever you want to call me and i’ve never been beaten up or abused and i’ve lived in popley all my life. So surely it can’t be that bad. The young kids nowdays are terrible, swearing and all, but i dont think my friends and the generation i hang out with are bad at all. So people shouldnt talk crap about something they have no idea about. And also i saw something about us being southern scum. It’s pathetic

Rating: 7.0/10 (3 votes cast)

Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)

Headley Down

Posted on: August 17th, 2008 by admin 1 Comment

Travel to the deepest darkest corner of Hampshire and this town is what you are greeted with; Headley Down… if the sign hasn’t been mutilated that is.

Step out your car, “GET YER TITS OUT LOVE” or occasionally the word tits can be replaced by “rat” if you have a particularly bold chav. The most likely culprit for the above mentioned comments is a pre-pubescent boy with ginger hair and a turbulant relationship with cheap aftershave which always seems to smell like swimming pool mixed with washing powder?!

Having previously experienced such an incident on my travels, I have found a way to combat these little turds. I was greeted by the bolder species of chav who shouted at me in his best pretend deep voice “Get your rat aaaaaut!”. Knowing that ignoring them just seems to make them even worse, I quickly turned to the offender and undid my flies. Him and his mates (all around 13 years old I reckon) looked at me with utter shock in their eyes and promptly disappeared rather sheepishly. Now either the fact I turned round and they saw my face put them off, or they got some sense and decided it was probably best to leave me alone.

Now I may have harped on about the lads of Headley Down, but don’t be fooled into thinking the girls are innocent beings… ooooh no! There are two breeds of female chav that reside in this particular town; the skinny peroxide blonde with the fake uggs tucked into trackies or the fat, greasy girls squeezed into tiny tops with everything on show. Now, lets start with the skinny blondes shall we?

Fag in mouth, fake Louis Vuitton in one hand, screaming child in the other. She’s successfully managed to breed and she’s only 12. Where’s her boyfriend I hear you ask? Well he’s either in the army or she doesn’t know who he is. She drags her adidas wearing sprog by its hood to the bus stop and yells at it every 10 seconds for daring to touch her bag. She is harmless, but irritating.

The larger girls (in my experience) with the hair raked back and the look of death in their eyes are the ones to watch for. You innocently brush up against them in OneStop and she spins round and glares at you. You apologise and keep your head down. You pick up your bread and milk and head for the queue, oh shit… she’s there waiting for you. You try and keep your distance from her, but you just can’t escape her gaze. She pays and leaves and you breathe a sigh of relief as you think the ordeal is over, but you couldn’t be more wrong. Pay for your food and step outside and there she is… with 9 of her other chunky buddies. “WHY YOU BEEN HITTIN COURTNEY THEN. YOU FINK YER BETTA VAN US?! YOU STARTIN?!”. You say no and apologise and head towards the car but they follow. What do you do, run them over? Ignore them!? Stones are usually thrown, then you threaten them with the car and they sod off. I would suggest to anyone who gets the glare from a girl whilst in the shop buys her a bottle of Lambrini, it’ll shut her and her mates up long enough for you to make a speedy exit.

I am glad I have found a retreat in eastern England and am no longer subject to the chav force of Headley Down, I just pity all the good people who still live there who get caught up in this mess. REVOLT AGAINST THE THREE STRIPE ARMYYYYY!!

Rating: 10.0/10 (1 vote cast)

Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Cosham, Nr. Portsmouth

Posted on: August 14th, 2008 by admin 6 Comments

Cosham. Situated far too close for comfort to the crumbling council estates of Paulsgrove (of PEDOPHILS OUT (sic) fame) and Wymering (spelt Wyoming by it’s mostly illiterate inhabitants), Cosham is a prime example of what happens to a pleasant suburb of Portsmouth when you surround it with toxic human waste.

After my short stint working for the Job Centre, I found myself forced to take a position with a company in this once charming town. Sadly for me this meant spending every single, solitary lunchtime wandering up and down the high street in an effort to find something to do. However it quickly became apparent that this search would be in vain, unless for some reason I suddenly developed a previously unrealised interest in rummaging through the belongings of the recently departed in one of it’s plethora of charity shops.

But perhaps I am doing Cosham a disservice. Stroll with me now as I lead you through the highs and lows (it has to be said mostly lows) of the Cosham shopping extravaganza.

Starting at the north end of the street, what do we find straight away but those champions of the down at heel shopper, New Look and Iceland.
Legions of legging clad charmers burrowing their way through the bargains to find that perfect outfit for this Saturdays romantic assignation with some bloke down an alley. Then, if there’s any money left from their Income Support, pop next door to stock up on frozen ready meals for the kids.
Moving on we come to the Bingo Hall. Queueing outside, smoking fistfuls of cigarettes are people too old to claim benefit anymore, but who are quite happy to fritter away their pension on an afternoons gambling and then freeze to death in the winter. They will be interspersed with younger members of the community who are on incapacity benefit and can’t work due to back, mental or internal conditions but who can sit all day at a formica topped table crossing numbers off a card and then leaping into the air upon winning.

But let us tear ourselves away and turn 180 degrees to let our gaze fall upon Cosham’s only supermarket. Tesco. Of course. Here we will find an array of the ugliest human beings that nature has dared spew out of it’s womb, all gathered under one roof. They will, of course, be stocking up on No Frills products and fresh produce (beer, fags, Lambrini). Moving swiftly along and bypassing one of Cosham’s four banks (the inhabitants have no need for these or even understand what they are for) we come to the staple of the local chav’s diet, Gregg’s. You are going to need to hold your breath here or risk being rendered unconcious by the almost visible smell of knocked off perfume emanating from the clientele. Having made it to the front of the queue, you too can sample the unthreatening, uncomplicated foodstuffs sold here. Ham, chicken or cheese sandwiches, sausage rolls, doughnuts etc etc. If it’s good enough for little Kineesha and little Tyson then it’s good enough for you.

Are you still holding your breath? Good. Then we must leave. Now we’re outside you should take a few deep breaths. Feeling better? Then we will carry on. Whilst gulping down those lungfuls of air you can’t fail to have noticed that retail cornucopia and shoplifters second home, Woolworths. Venturing in, we find an unsettlingly large amount of customers in long coats, their heads bobbing up and down like startled meercats, who, for now, we will assume are legitimate shoppers and not light fingered pond scum out stealing presents for Christmas. A quick browse along the mobile phone aisle will reveal that there are actually no mobile phones here. All demonstration models have long since been stolen and one can only imagine the disappointment when little Britney-Jade opens her present to find that it consists of a mobile phone with nothing actually inside it. I fear counselling at the tax payers expense may be needed at this point.

Exiting Woolworth’s, without any stolen goods down our trackie bottoms, we pass an Ethel Austin (empty, too expensive and too hard to steal from) on our right hand side and come to the local sandwich shop. As I am a regular customer here and the food is actually really good I will refrain from commenting. Crossing the road, we pass one of two pubs, both of which have a collection of swaying, drunken customers outside, smoking. Not making eye contact, we hurry past. Looking up again we find ourselves outside Poppin’s Cafe. Peering through the steamed up windows you can observe people undertaking that very cornerstone of unemployed dining, making a cup of tea last 4 hours whilst talking very loudly, to anyone who will listen, about their multitude of gastric complaints with accompanying physical evidence.

I know that you will be keen to see what’s next and, as time is pressing, I will hurry the tour along. On your right you will see Peacocks (busy, cheap and easy to steal from) and across the road on your left is Heidi’s Patisserie. This is normally empty due to being expensive, although very nice, and the populace generally being suspicious of the word Patisserie. (It’s foreign or summink, innit?). The remainder of the shopping delights here are too woeful to mention, but as we reach the end of the street we find the Job Centre (like an old friend) and directly opposite you can view what must be the tallest, largest building in Cosham, Roebuck House. Roebuck house is the nerve centre for all Income Support and Incapacity Benefit claims and therefore is also the busiest building in town. The procedure for being seen here appears to be as follows:

1. Take number.
2. Proceed outside building and consume as many cans of Kestrel Extra Strength Lager as you can whilst waiting for your number to be called.
3. Copiously vomit over entrance.
4. Enter building and realise number has been called.
5. Swear blind that you never left building and your number wasn’t called.
6. Threaten everyone in building
7. Vomit again, only this time inside building.
8. Wait for police to arrive, then leave whilst screaming obscenities at anyone who dares look at you.

So there we have it. Maybe I am being a little too harsh on Cosham. I leave it to you, dear reader, to decide for me whether Cosham is simply misunderstood or actually is a puss filled cyst on arse of this country.

However, I will leave you with this thought. Cosham does not even have one bookshop. The reason for this is obvious. Were you foolish enough to open one here, you and your family would, naturally, die of starvation.

Rating: 6.7/10 (6 votes cast)

Rating: -1 (from 3 votes)

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