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Archive for the ‘Wiltshire’ Category

Calne – the toilet town

Posted on: October 31st, 2008 by admin 2 Comments

How to begin about Calne – ah yes, the only good thing about the place is the way out. If you are a resident of calne, your either one of the commuters or you are built into the fabric.
It is truly the only place where people move house down the f**king street! The average person there has an iq that stays in single figures and there really is nothing that you can do about it.
Townies, Chavs and Moshers all group up in one little outfit and hang around the town centre like a horde of ill trained baboons. Teenage Chavs are bad enough, but these little scrotes are in there twenties and still trying to impress the little girls who hang around.
The usual uniform is shitty little tracksuits, obligatory bling and above all a f**king bmx! Even now, going into the town centre is seeing a horde of idiot bastard children, usually in between 20 and 200 hundred of the little bastards.
Fridays and Saturday nights generally consists of a drink or two in the town centre then running a gauntlet of abuse, obstacles and the little twats who decide they want to shove you about, then when you punch the fuckers out, you get a visit from the police.
Heroes in Calne generally tend to be the senior smackheads, who regale the junior skaghead section with how hard they are. It’s bollocks. They pack knives but can’t use them, stink like a toilet for typhus sufferers and really should do us a favour and get a shower.
The only real places to go are the pigs in the town centre and congregating around the outside of the charcoal grill. Sometimes they will have firework riots and generally intimidating families is another favourite. If they get bored, they hop on a bus to Chippenham and fight the chavs there… Sad Sad little people with nothing better to do.
If there was ever an argument for compulsory sterilisation, the reprobates who hang around the town centre truly are that.

Rating: 9.0/10 (2 votes cast)

Rating: 0 (from 0 votes)

Chippenham (Chip’ numb)

Posted on: October 10th, 2008 by 7 Comments

Chippenham is a small market town in Wiltshire, 15 miles East of Bath. I was living happily in Bath until my landlord decided to sell the house. My friends came to the rescue – or so I thought.

They had bought their 1st house 8 months previously in Chippenham (they couldn’t afford a house in Bath). They started to struggle with their mortgage so asked me to move in with them. I thought it would be better than being homeless and I’d been to Chippenham once before to visit them and it seemed a nice place. I was wrong!

My friends privately owned house was next to a council estate, in fact the adjoining house was a housing association house. It homed a single mother and her 3 chav kids and the loudest dog in Wiltshire. During the day they would get pissed, throw litter into our back garden and row. In the evening they would also fight. Most of the other families in the area were the same and would stock up on booze in the mini market directly opposite our house! From 4pm until 9pm the mini chavs (8 to 14 yrs old) would hang out in front of the shop using the shop front as a football goal and swearing at any one who walked past. From 9pm onwards the older chavs would take over and vomit everywhere.

I still worked in Bath and spent as much time as possible there; even at the weekends I would travel into Bath to go shopping and meet friends, because Chippenham is a dump, there is nothing to do there. The high street has a Wilkos, Woolworths, Argos, JJB sports, several mobile phone shops and a Greggs (yummy!) It is infested by the worst dressed mini chavs, teenage chavs, 20 yr old grandmother chavs (grow up) and the thuggish 40yr old male chavs covered in tattoos, cheap gold jewellery and pit bull terriers who parade up and down the high street or the road around the corner which we called kebab alley – a lovely road that consists of takeaways and charity shops.

Apparently there’s a night club in Chippenham but I never found it, although a friend from Melksham went there and said it was great if you like young girls! As for pubs there is the Four Seasons in the market square. It would be great if it wasn’t for the people who went there! There’s also the Old Road Tavern which I went to a lot. The pub has more than its fair share of locals including the fat, single mother parents
in the back room with their (I assume its theirs) kids suckling off
their breasts whilst they enjoy a nice pint of Tenants. In
the corner on Friday lunchtimes (Friday club) sit two young lovlies
with their slave. Friday and Saturday night is chav night – literally – with enough burberry and gold chains to make you laugh into your pint of Guiness!

Then there is the chav mode of transport in Chippenham – you get the usual mopeds and knobs in Novas and Clios who for some reason hang out on the bridge at the bottom of the high street. What’s worse though are the Subaru Imprezas. I used to love these cars but in Chippenham they have become the chavs favourite mode of transport. They’ve turned a decent car into a chav mobile. But because they are owned by chavs they are old Imprezas that have been reconditioned and probably only have a top speed of 80mph!

The highlight of the year in Chip’ numb is the annual folk festival. Morris dancers would dance in the high street and be heckled by the local chavs pissed on half a pint of Kronenburg. It would be a lovely little festival – if the locals didn’t turn up. I always thought it would be nice to live in a village or a little market town, but after 12 months in Sh@ttenham give me a big city any day. I do not wish to turn into a one eye chav. I want a life!

Rating: 4.0/10 (3 votes cast)

Rating: -1 (from 1 vote)

Swindon – at school

Posted on: October 8th, 2008 by admin No Comments

Swindon, maybe the chavviest place on earth. Where the sky is a constant grey, and you just can’t escape the nike tracksuits or the addidas trainers. And at school, its all the same.

Just to prove how sad these chavs are, they do exactly like one and other, the p.e. changing room reaks of lynx chocolate, prehaps their “leader” hasn’t realised that it dosent smell like chocolate AT ALL.

After getting handed 10 to 20 out of uniform slips they will strut their stuff in their “£50″ trainers, yeh shure, thats what sports soccer says, “£10.50, reduced a billion percent from £55″, as they are stupid enough to think they have grabbed a cool bargin i say WELL DONE to all stores in swindon, as they have ripped of some chavs money, after all they only get it of their benifits.

They will only be anywhere when they are with at least 20 people, and if you bump into a single one in a corridor they will move out of your way and hope no one was watching. Anything you do or say that dose not worship the religion of chav will be offending their gods of “fakeness, hate and fear”. Its obvious they are weak as they stand around in their massive groups and pick on the weakest kids.

Now, “fights”, this is the time you’ve gotta be around. The “bad man” kids, will ”arange” ( think of the weakest person) a fight. The “gangster” will have half the school on his side, and the other will have his five friends and the pet toad he kept from disection in science. As the group rushes into each other, they will form a ring. Proceded by the two staring at each other, with various “if you touch my twelth cosins best friends brother i will batter you”s. Nothing will happen and the chav will be stuck in iceolation. If anything dose happen, the chav will land 50 punches in their face and the person wont even feel anything. But the chav will be excluded.

What i really wanted to say is that chavs in swindon are funny, they are stupid, follow each other and will never land a punch to save their 30 year old granny. Also, penhill is a trash-hole and i feel sorry as i no a few non chavs that live there.

Thanks for reading, more is coming =P

Rating: 10.0/10 (1 vote cast)

Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)

Trowbridge – the root of all evil!

Posted on: July 7th, 2007 by admin 1 Comment

If someone ever advises you that trowbridge is lovely, nice or even bearable, they are lying, they do not like you, and they want you to suffer.
Trowbridge is geographically pretty accessable to many places such as Birmingham, Cardiff and London, although it may as well be on a desert island, as born and bread Trowbridgearians very rarely leave the 3 mile radius, unless of course for a fight with a rival town, for which they would do a runner from a taxi.
The typical trowbridge resident is the famed, chav. There are many species of such that breed in the area. You get the townies, the boy racers, the girl racers, and the down and out chavs. Definitions of Such chavs:

The townie - ’Picknie’.
Age range – 8 years old to 16. If there are persons present in the group which are above this ages it usually stands that they are a little simple, even by chav terms, the younger chavs of course do not realise that the 35 year old man wanting to hang around with 8 year olds is strange. But in such a group the older your mates the cooler you are, and you wont have any problems getting fags and alcohol with an old man by your side.

Activity/ies of choice – fighting, especially if they completly out numberer the victim, or even better if the victim is defenceless. Such Chavs will only fight if they are in a large group, if confronted when alone, most will cry, others will run. Bullying and sleeping around – such chavs love to push a buggy around town in the day, and talk loudly and openly about sex, phrases such as ‘hez got a little willy’ and ‘it didnt even touch eh sides’ are often heard in the midst of the night. Such chavs love to borrow young children and cart them around town, although they have to be in a buggy, even if the child is 6! It is also commonplace to see the young children with pierced ears and being shouted at loudly by their 12 year old mother, or carer. It is a popular activity to sit outside blockbuster video in the centre of town after they have managed to get someone to buy them some at alcohol.

The hotspot: The centre at any time of day or night, they walk around the centre in the day with their many children, acknowledging everyone with a quick ‘you alright’, a nodd – to indicate the same thing, or a doggy look. They shout obsceneties at many people, and if unprovoked even resort to following them around waiting fro a reaction. At night such chavs, sit outside blockbuster with cider bought with money stolen from their parents, or from some defenceless child. From this position they shout at girls, especially attractive ones who walk by, and give them doggy looks. If even a glance is noted this can warrant a full blown physical attack.

They worship: Boy racers, or anyone with a car. They are never actually cool enough or attractive enough to go out iwth or set foot in the car of a boy racers car, although they spend the majority of their time talking about them and know there names and exactly what they drive, they also sometimes pay other people for the boy racers mobile number. If any opportunity ever arose to meet or get with a boy racer, they would sacrifice anything.

They hate: pretty girls, emo’s, grungers, skaters, and just about everyone half descent.

Suitable chav joke – Why was the bible not based in trowbridge – because they couldnt find 3 wise men, or a virgin.

Boy Racers:
Age range: 17 – 25 – anyone who can drive can join.

Choice of activity – going down to Mcdonalds car park, or parking in the middle of the one way system. They smoke fags, and love picking up girls in the age range of 10-14, who have lots of girlfriends who can also sit with them. They like to talk about other boy racers, and drive around town repeatedly. They play very loud music ear drum bursting stylie. They spend enormous amounts of money on usually very cheap cars, cuh as novas, saxo’s and fiestas. They like to beeb their horn to get attention and do wheel spins.

The hotspot – Mcdonalds carpark, when that closes the one way system near town.

They worship – others with nice cars

They hate – who they used to be, little jippo chavs with no friends, who look at every car that passes them.

Suitable chav joke – two chavs are in a car with no music on, who is driving? The police.

Girl racers – as above, although usually are former picknies.

Down and out chavs:
Age range – all ages

Choice of activity: Drinking, swearing, smoking, talking about everyone elses business and fighting. Fighting is of the most violent nature, often involving bludgoning instruments. They are very unpredictable.

The Hotspot: Studley Green – The shop, or The John Bull – a vile pub, full of residents, you are sure to be oggled if you are female, however your appearence may be and if you are male, god help you.

They worship – Whoever is considered the hardest or well-known.

They hate – anyone who is not as chavvy as them

Suitable chav joke – what do you call a chav with 9 G.C.S.Es? A liar!

As you can gather, the small town of Trowbridge, near Bath, is not peaceful, picturesque and the centre of happiness. It is riddled with chavs from all disiplines, and is to be avoided at all costs. If you want to inflict pain on someone, suggest a shopping trip, or a night out there, you are gaurenteed to be beaten up, if you have a good old look around. The residents are painfully ugly, overweight and wear copious amounts of jewelry, and make-up to account for their loss of clothes. The people are sickening, and one of a kind. I would advise any production company to film a documentary their. It is the closest to neanderthal ape that you will find living in a house.

Rating: 10.0/10 (3 votes cast)

Rating: +2 (from 2 votes)

Another Day In (Chav) Paradise – aka Welcome to Swindon

Posted on: January 22nd, 2007 by admin No Comments

Swindon has featured on these pages before but recently moving back to the place (God knows why) after being away for nine years offers a fascinating insight on how a formerly successful town which was a pleasant place to live and work has now become an utter Chav centre. The dominant accent is not the pleasant Wiltshire burr of years ago but a horrendous blend of Cockney, Essex and that awful pseudo ghetto/rap speak favoured by the young.

The town centre is as good a place as any to start. Assorted chav-clad oafs, scallies and other assorted lowlifes prowling around, more than outnumber the occasional yuppie in a suit. Add to that a heady mix of asylum seekers lurking on the corners between their next “work today get paid today” moonlighting assignment and it’s hard not to despair. The town is plastered with graffiti, on the odd occasion it gets cleaned off it’s usually back within a day or two.

Swindon shopping has always been fairly prosaic and in line with most identikit UK towns these days, but even the cheap shops are currently giving up and closing down leaving the centre looking more like a deprived Welsh Valley village than a prosperous southern town. For the more discerning chav, there is always the Brunel Outlet Village. Buses leave every two minutes from the town centre so no waiting around to get at Donnays and shop-lift the latest poor man’s Burberry aka Lonsdale emblazoned fashion. The village is built around the old railway works and new GWR museum. Poor old Isambard must be turning in his grave as half the visitors probably don’t even know what a train is, let alone appreciate the fine engineering of a GWR steam locomotive.

On the subject of buses, both the local bus companies have carried out “chavette” conversions on most of the fleet – with the removal of up to a third of the seating capacity to make room for non-collapsible pushchairs and prams. They even helpfully lower the floor so said items can be loaded by the single mothers without lifting, no doubt to avoid chav claims for compensation after straining their back. Unfortunately this results in few seats being available for commuters in the peak, with the result that buses either go past the stops full or you have to sway with 25 other standing passengers like the Tokyo underground.

A bus journey in Swindon frequently provides an in depth chav experience. Very few journeys take place without a gang of four or five louts and their female entourage occupying the rear seats holding foul mouthed conversations about their latest drug dealing/court appearance/shagging conquest. This is frequently held in said ghetto speak. At the minimum you can usually guarantee some chain mobile phone usage with single mothers carrying out a constant stream of inarticulate conversations with their mates, “Yeah, like, I’m on the bus in’ I, like.”

If you seek solace in the suburbs, expect a nasty surprise. The formerly pleasant residential area of West Swindon is particularly blighted. If you thought graffiti and vandalism was endemic in the town it is, if anything, worse in the residential areas. Just about every vertical surface has some form of tag or scrawl on it – not even garden walls and fences are spared. Where they’ve run out of vertical space, they have made a start on the pavements. Particularly bad is the formerly upmarket residential area of Ramleaze, which makes the Beirut/Bronx end of Brackla in Bridgend look like Beverley Hills! The council don’t care; the police are nowhere to be seen, not even when the uninsured boy racers are blasting their hot rods up and down in the evening. At least part of the problem is due to much of the property having being bought over by absentee “Buy to Let” landlords so out of sight is out of mind and rented out to tenants (many of whom are probably evicted chavs re-housed by the council) who have no interest in tidying up.

These areas have also spawned a new form of lowlife – the bored-little-rich-kid wannabee-chav. They are the ones who have played GTA-San Andreas and think it is cool to go round on their lowrider BMX bikes, scrawl their names everywhere and generally hang around menacing decent citizens.

And without making the thing political, it has to be said quite frankly that what you have today in Swindon is a microcosm of the failure of nine years of New Labour social and economic engineering and relaxation of law and order. Personally I hate the place and can’t wait until I have enough money in my pension fund to call it a day, get the house on the market and move out somewhere decent – like back to Bridgend!

Rating: 6.0/10 (2 votes cast)

Rating: +1 (from 1 vote)

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