If you have ever been to Boston in Lincolnshire then undoubtably you will have had the utmost pleasure of seeing many a pregnant 14 year old with the obligatory poverty pack of 10 Richmond fags. Learning the local lingo of Boston is quite hard to do, so may I suggest going to a local primary school at 3.15 and listening to some of the parents as they fetch their children. More than likely you will hear a plethora of delights such as below:

* Ello duck.

*Git ova ere yuh little bastard

*Yeah my boy as got ADHD and ee’s disabled so we get DLA allowance (50 more mothers nod in agreement and state that in fact their child too has ADHD)

*Did yuh giro come?

* Im off Kwiksave duck. Are yuh coming?

Nightlife in Boston usually revolves around Saturday nights in Eclipse or groups of youths meeting at “moon under the water”. The proper chavs meet in the Still and then congregate in the wine bar where they wont need to buy drinks due to the fact that they downed two bottles of SPAR shop Lambrini before going out. Chat up lines will go along the lines of:

* Got a light Duck?
* You’re a well minger you are
* Shut up then
* Heard it

Boston sports a growing EMO population. Boston EMO’s are normally Grammar School or Boston College students who throw on a black top, paint their nails and dont wash their hair in the hope it will make them be just like the morbid and suicidal people in EMO songs. Boston chavs laugh at EMO’s which is funny in itself because the rest of Boston laughs at the Chavs.

If you like cheap gold, Richmond fags, wheeling a baby in a manky pushchair with a bottle of tea stuffed in its mouth through the market place then Boston could be the place for you.

Boston Docks was one of Europe’s premier ports in the 17th Century; a hub of commerce and industry that drove the economic development of England’s glorious East Coast. Now it’s where the gap toothed prostitutes hang out… That’s a depressingly good analogy for Boston in 2007.

So, I don’t live in our little town any more. I only visit a couple of times a year which, unlike most Boston based urchins, means that I have a bit of perspective about what changes from year to year. It just gets shitter. And more depressing. And more chavvy.

From the new ‘retail park’ that boasts not only Gala Bingo but TK Maxx, Sports Direct and a Netto to the Aldi / McDonalds Drive-Thru ‘retail park’ on the other side of the river, the Chavification of a once nice town continues apace. Fucknutted, knuckle scraping losers strut around the decaying town centre, flexing their stringy muscles and flashing their dole cash whilst pram-faced teenage girls follow them like gaggles of honking geese. They’re all pricks… every last one of them.

Y’see, I’m a Boston person born and bred and I’m not sorry for coming from here but every time I visit, I’m just blown away by the sheer apathy of the provincial retards. No ambition. No plans. No dreams. Just endless attempts to look increasingly cool at any one of the town’s ‘hot’ night spots.

And in recent years there’s been a rise in what I term, ‘Rock Cunts’. No Burberry for these tear-stained fools alas; oh no, the uniform is black… the place is The Axe and Cleaver and the attitude is… uninspired. What these little cunts fail to realise is that a) emo is very much over and b) that being a johnny f**king no-stars no-talent ass clown with a huge f**king hole in your earlobe and an assymetric haircut who bleats about ‘being trapped’, is only effective up until the age of 15. After that, you’re just a sad, pathetic, no effort loser who sits in a dingy pub drinking piss water whilst the whole f**king world spins round and round and round completely oblivious to your unique form of ‘individualism’.

After all, what could possibly be more individual that having a ‘really unusual’ tattoo on your lower back or some ‘really unusual’ ear piercings that you got done at the same f**king stupid place as every other stupid, uninspired friend of yours. Yeah, that marks you out as unique and special… it really does.

It’s not that Boston is a bad town or that it’s people (myself included) are simply stupid. Okay, they are a bit but that’s only because these people know nothing of anything past Kirton or Stickney… There’s a whole wide world going on out there right now; why not take your pathetic lack of ambition and see a little of it. Or maybe you could just sit in the Axe and tell anyone that’ll listen about how you’re going to ‘Rio’ this year… yet another pipe dream, my friend. Yet another f**king pipe dream.

Spalding is a medium sized market town in South Lincolnshire. That’s all I can positively say about it. For some unknown reason my parents (after leaving the RAF) decided this was to be the place to bring 4 children up, having the choice of the whole of the UK – no – the World.
I was determined from the prescient age of 11 to leave this god-forsaken and narrow minded town as soon as I could. Education here is a bonus. Bizarrely, I was in the minority of kids my age – determined to get my homework done and get good grades so i wouldn’t have to stay a moment longer once I took my exams.
Spalding has all you would expect from a chav town: the town car park where bored teenagers tottering on heels and in low cut tops congregate in the dead of winter, only warming themselves by rutting up against the Post Office wall (or perhaps more conveniently – the nearest car bonnet); the nightclub – endearingly entitled “The Granary” – where the end of the night is marked by “The Ten to Two” – the last gasp chance of a quickie with someone who’ll “do”; just in time to get back in before closing time for one last vodka shot. The town is further enhanced by the accents that dominate the area (and reach their peak in the nearby Boston) – everything has to end in “mate” and “duck”… I practiced my vowels every night like a good girl.
So, if you’re tempted by the annual “Tulip Parade” which brings in hordes of pensioners from UK, but is actually a good excuse for an all day “piss up” and small minded berating of “strangers with funny accents”, please remember to leave your IQ, trust of others and sunny disposition at home – if you don’t – you simply won’t fit in.
I won’t say anything about the usual dress sense – New Look and JJB have a few shops here – and I’m always surprised that the lure of a MacDonalds hasn’t yet closed down the town’s Wimpy Bar – with their faded pictures of burgers and shakes promising years of bad skin and muffin tops to the choosy customers.
The town council’s planning department have done a wonderful job in turning it into a hemogenous and low maintenance “any town” – they need all their resources in the Benefits department – after all – as the town’s young ladies opted for ” ‘avin a young ‘un” as part of their GCSE choices – a fantastic opportunity to take a waterside apartment and get all the latest apparel for self and home from Argos.

Bourne, situated in the heart of the fens has taken the chav epidemic to new lows. The town boasts one nightspot, Lesters late bar and restaurant, (no food served) where every bird in there has had half the town up her.

The repressed nature and culture of Bourne means nobody new comes to the town and anyone who can leave, does so.

It’s not just chav’s who dwell here, it’s obese chav’s and chavette’s. For anybody who loves chavspotting, this south lincolnshire town is a must!