Hester’s Way in Cheltenham is home to some serious pond life. In the Edinburgh Square shopping precinct you can find the
holy trinity of ‘Chav’ retail therapy in a row – Greggs, Farmfoods and a Cheque Centre instant cash shop.
The local Oompa Loompas can then nip round the corner to the Consol Suncenter to top up their instant tan.

Cheltenham is the most racist place I’ve ever found in England. I worked there for about 18 months and regularly heard the words ‘c**n’ and ‘n*gger’ bandied about in the office.

The town is home to a ludicrous bunch of pricks who call themselves the ‘Cheltenham Volunteer Force’.
These bell ends have set up their own website with Lacoste and Stone Island logos and of course the obligatory Burberry check background.
The CVF even dared to take on the mighty Rushden Diamonds firm on their own patch. One of them managed to work out how to work
the camera to capture the big day out: http://cvfyouth.webs.com/picsetc.htm

When they’re not masturbating furiously over Danny Dyer they like to indulge in serious political debate. You can find links to the BNP and English Defence League if you wait long enough for the pages to download (web design is a difficult skill to master when your knuckles scrape along the ground).

By: Olly Cocker

Really great place for chavs, mainly because their parents are probably chavs as well. I’m amazed there aren’t more entries on this. There is absolutely nothing to do hear except get drunk on the town bridge or dump a shopping trolley in the river which is already full of litter, just like the rest of the town. Also a really nasty smell of piss hangs around in the high street.

When the chavs go home they will spend most of the time bolting random crap onto a car that they think looks awesome, but is really just a pile of sh*t. Don’t even think of going here whatever anyone tells you it really is that bad.

By: Marty

Falmouth is an interesting town.

Vibrant, with a lot going for it.

Numerous beaches and yacht havens. Yes this may seem like an ideal place to be, but there are areas that blight this town’s image.

The worst places have to be Old Hill and Acasia. Two estates where the scum of the earth live and breath. Separated by one main road cutting right through the middle. Old Hill is basically a dumping ground, where most councils from outside Cornwall decide to release their unruly tennants, to rid them for good. These people then unfortunately breed and present us with the chav.

If you decide to venture there, prepare yourself for the local youths to try and speak to you in their native tongue. It makes you wonder why the police station was built just a few hundred yards away! If you decide to relocate to Falmouth, just avoid this area and you’ll be fine.

Falmouth school have to put up with these people throughout the day.  You can tell from the day they start, they’ll grow up to be really skillful chavs. Not to forget their slags.

You may also see the odd scrote ragging it about the Longfield estate on a stolen ped. If you do, push them off. You’d be doing us all a favour!

By: Ian

Gloucester is the epitome of defeat snatched from the jaws of victory. What I mean to say is that, for example, Walsall is often cited as a dump of a town centre but has always been so before the ghastly 1960′s revamp. Gloucester has been turned into one by the planners, square ‘architecture’ of slum 1960/70′s design that was a copy of Ceaucescu’s ‘new’ Rumania before he and his kleptocratic wife were shot against a wall. We see this crapola nestled against grand old buildings, the most notable example being King’s Square.

The town centre is boarded up at the periphery, and is a classic example of ‘bookies,banks,bakers,bars and bargain shops’ that some towns have now become. Now socially, the town is hopeless. It used to have 4 or 5 nightclubs but now has one, the grotty ‘Liquid’ in Eastgate Street. Eastgate Street is the social centre of the town with strings of chav bars and unhygienic immigrant takeaway shops alternating along the chip-strewn seagull shit-encrusted pavements. In between a few immigrant newsagents where you can buy (unwittingly) fake tobacco and cigarettes and spirits. As you walk up there on a Friday or Saturday night, stepping over the rivulets of frothing urine meandering across the pavements from each alley and shop doorway, you are of course confronted by the chavs and chavettes.

The chavettes are worse; underdressed in the winter, short tops with a roll of flab hanging out from under, a cheap chrome trinket nailed through their navels, they holler obscenities at each other as they slide down the greasy pavements swigging from their alcopop bottles and plastic glasses, often dressed up as policewomen or some other guise in their attempts to look like they’ve got something to celebrate. This is despite the Wests’ attempts to cull them back in the 1990′s. When they get to a bar, they will immediately pose for a stupid contrived photograph which is no doubt destined for Faecebook in their pathetic attempts to convince other no-marks that they have had ‘fun’.

The place is poor, a low-rent low-wage economy. This is seen in the size of the people, young women especially. They would look normal in Tonga, but there must be a local incentive system to be obese. I counted 7/10 females one night in the town as being overweight. The opposite is true in Cheltenham. Over there, the scummers are mostly confined to one out-of-town area so most of the town is decent to live in. In Gloucester you are always next to a scummer area. The locales of Gloucester are: Dreadworth, Matscum, Roughley, Shabbeymead, Shabbeydale, Shite City, Stoney Hill, Taintbridge, Binden and Sodsmead. Avoid them all. If you are unfortunate enough to be posted there through work, live in a village outside the city, go shopping in an out-of-town park and you’ll never need to go into the khazi.

The acccent? Well, some accents, like Welsh, sound sexy on the women and retarded on the men. The Gloucester accent has the unique quality of making anybody using it sound retarded.

As is usual, the town is blighted by the effects of unmetered third-world and E.European immigration. Romanian beggars and shoplifters, Polish alcoholics, black muggers and drug dealers and we’ve even had the honour of two of our muzzies being convicted of terror offences. This is of course, in addition to our indigenous Saturday night yobs and dosser-street drinkers which lurk by every cash machine. They also infest the Cathedral area, the one green space in the city centre. There are so many that there is now even a ‘wet area’ to keep them off the streets, where they can imbibe White Lightning, Tennent’s Super-Strengh and Carlsberg Special Brew paid for by us taxpayers, at their leisure. I hope the cans are being recycled.

So, to summarize: move into the town, or visit it, at your peril. Just to avoid your vehicle being plastered in seagull shit is reason enough to stay away, notwithstanding the above. Being filthy, the town is a magnet for the KFC-gulls. If you have kids, make sure to live in a village outside, where other kids speak English and actually want to learn subjects aside from swaggering down the street with their arses hanging out of their cretinous trousers. A more socially bereft place you’d struggle to find. Oh, I forgot! The much-vaunted redevlopment of the Old Docks. The derelict crumbling Victorian red-brick monstrosities, sitting next to the halfway houses and drug hostels in Llanthony Road……..now they are Victorian red-brick monstrosities, sitting next to the Halfway houses and drug hostels in Llanthony Road…ermm…with some poncey shops and a resurfaced car park.

By: paul m

I used to think this place was nice, when a small child. But there is a truely terrible gap between the rich and poor, a problem that never gets solved. While there are areas that stick their nose up in the air, there are others where the flat blocks look awful, and the schools dont give a good education, namely Hesters way and st pauls. My mother also once did a piece of artwork about the souless rows of bungalows that congregate in Swindon ‘Village’, the outskirts are the worst bit, and a great big store like Asda, which has just been built gives it no favours. It also has quite a limited amount of good attractions, but if you do like racecources, which I just find dull, then move here. If you want to live in a place with a proper landmark that you can just look at and recognise, dont live here. Thye town centre also teemes with drunks on a Saturday night, not very safe. My dad was once an artist in this place, and had his artwork stolen by yobs, he was punched in the jaw when trying to get them back.

By: Smith

Welcome to weston-super-mare where you can eat skanky fish and chips cooked in hydrogenated oil from last summer season, Where you can go for a drink and get attacked by the local scum that walk the streets looking for a 10 bag…. Have a walk on the beach but watch for the dog mess,broken bottles,condoms and sick from the night drinkers. How about shopping??? Great if you want to either buy a mobile phone,a book from a charity shop or spend your last pound in poundland (thats if you can get inside the shop, once the scum have got their giro you will have no chance of getting anywhere near the place) We have a new pier but you will need a bankloan to feed the greedy owners bank balance. The best thing about weston…..Junction 21 on the way out

By: ben

I cannot believe tiverton is not on this list. It has more nutter and weirdos per square inch than london. Its a lovely picturesque town with nice features and lovely hanging baskets on every corner but the reality of this is that the hanging baskets are covering a few very strange smells about the town, at some times of year it smells like raw (and i mean very raw) sewage, i put this down to the unwashed, other times the odour takes on a more fishy smell, possibly the towns many slappers had their legs open at the same time.

There’s a chav on every corner, usually more than one asking for a spare fag or bus fare.  On a sunday morning any trip to the shops involves a slalom of various piles of vomit, dropped kebabs, curries etc and splatters of blood from various fights that have errupted the previous night.  On my return home from my friends one night i was walking down the road to find a massive rat dead in the middle of the road outside the local take aways, i suspect it died of food poisoning.  In short tiverton is great for an amusing visit to laugh at the local wildlife but more than a few hours stay and you will find yourself in some sort of unfortunate incident of an x files type nature.

By: moo shepherd

Gloucester is truly the most horrific city you’ll ever visit. It is completely devoid of any hope or ambition. Most towns have a few bad areas but Gloucester has only bad areas, and the highlight of the city centre is Primark.

The residents are a lovely mix of unintelligible immigrants and fat, ugly chavs whose only occupation is to drink outside one of the many empty shops that blight the seagull infested streets. Though Gloucester has a beautiful cathedral, this only succeeds in highlighting the monstrosities that dominate the skyline, including the bus station, muti-storey car park, hospital and prison.

It really says something about the IQ of Gloucester residents when the only building they destroy during the riots was already earmarked for demolition.

By: Jack

Richey Edwards from the Manic Street Preachers is quoted to have said about his hometown “if Blackwood was a museum it would be full of shit and rubble”. Chorley on the other hand IS a museum made of shit and rubble.

If you want to experience life in a 19th century slum town with everything bad about the 20th century added for good measure you could do worse than visit Chorley, or Charley as the tracksuits call it.

By: ranton

They say the devil makes work for idle hands – and the hands of Torre near Torquay are very very idle – except when distributing drugs or fighting. Whilst Torre is not the end of the line on the railway, it is the end of the line for many of it’s inhabitants.

Torre’s population is surprisingly diverse with people drifting in from Chavtowns nationwide. Do they come to breath the sea air, go fishing or take picnics on nearby Dartmoor? Perhaps they’re looking for a fresh start?

No, they come because the seaside is as far as they can get from whatever disaster they’ve left behind – whilst still being able to collect incapacity benefit - as residents of Plymouth, Dover or Hastings will testify. Paradoxically, most are ‘incapable’ of even brushing their teeth – but who’s choice is that?

When it’s not raining the rows of hotels with their exotic plants look quite attractive – but don’t be fooled! – this is just a facade to keep the council happy. A clue is the dusty ’no vacancies’ sign glued to the window in mid-winter.

Step inside and you enter a dingy, musty dungeon peppered with the sound of sobbing, moaning and ‘dry heaving’ drifting down the stairwell - as alcholics live out the rest of their days in apparent opprobrium. One or two die each month just falling down the stairs or out of their windows. The 1970s handmade wallpaper tells of happier times before the zombies arrived.

Torre’s pubs are more lively but not in a way you would want. Take the Torre Abbey – featured on Crimewatch March 31st 2011. It makes the Queen Vic seem positively tranquil. Stay there for more than half an hour and you’ll be talking to the police – not necessarily about anything you’ve done – but whether you ‘saw’ anything.

Do you like that sinking feeling when a stranger walks up to you and says ‘I don’t like your face!” holding a snooker cue the wrong way round? Then come here. If you like a fight, you’ll get tired just ‘stepping outside’. Incidentally the cue weilding chav is now their bouncer.

Of course no Chavtown is complete without a drugs problem and torre is so awash with narcotics that dealers operate a ‘first past the post’ system to get to you. I had someone knocking on my toilet door 5 minutes after a general enquiry.

Sadly though, drugs appear not to be for partying here. The local way is to go crashing about in a family restaurant in filthy clothes at lunchtime, then spend 20 minutes remembering what a pint is - just as the police arrive.

It might be ’grim t’north’ but it’s worse at Britain’s dangling ‘extremities’. The next day, I never felt such relief to be back in a London traffic jam.