Gosport is a seaside shithole with a pebble beach and a concrete eyesore that is often also referred to as ‘the promenade’. ‘The promenade’ is lined with old glorified cupboards that fat people sit in during the summer, you may be thinking by cupboards I mean beach huts. I do not mean beach huts. Behind the cupboards and sheltered benches – or public urinals- is an unkempt field covered in dog shit left by the early morning dog walkers who feel that by getting up before everyone else gives them the divine right to leave their dog’s excrement strewn across the beach

The beach has a wide choice of two cafes, the most central Pebbles cafe will serve anything from processed chips to processed sausage with a side order of the daily mail. See adults and kids alike flock to the ice cream window to have frozen milk poured into stale cones by an acne ridden school kid trying to earn money to fund his cigarette habit.

If the beach is not you’re thing then why not head into Gosport town center and experience the lunchtime delights that are Greggs and Mcdonalds. Popular amongst the elderly Greggs offers a wide range of freshly baked saturated fat perfect to be enjoyed with a flat soda avaliable from many of the high street’s pound shops. However, if baked goods aren’t your thing you’re in luck because the high street has not one, not two but three fast food outlets including the famed KFC, once said to be “the tourist highlight of the town” by a woman on the bus.

If you’ve managed to keep your lunch down you may want to enjoy some of the Gosport nightlife. Diverse and contemporary, Emma’s offers a chance to listen to some of the latest music, providing you go in the 1990s. Emma’s has become famed in Gosport for it’s unusually sticky floor which may sound bad but not it comparison to Gosport’s late nightclub Moodeaze which was closed down for health and saftey reasons due to it’s unusually sticky floor, some have speculated that this may be a culmination of urine and semen but were unable to say for sure because the scent was masked by the ever gorgeous smell of nicotine, body odour and cheap perfume.

For those unwilling to mingle with Gosport’s clubbers, Wetherspoons offers and cheap alternative, so cheap in fact that it is quite possible to become paralytic for under £15; whilst this may sound concerning at first you’d really have to experience the wonders of such a town to understand why a night out is better spent completely unconscious.

By: Rachael

The nearby estate of Maesgeirchen breeds chavs like a roadkill badger breeds maggots, and they completely swarm the city. But it’s not just the ratio of chav:normal person that makes it so bad. These chavs can’t even be angry or violent properly like most city chavs. Remember those kids i school who’d hang around with the bigger bullies and peer around from behind them shouting abuse instead of actually being tough? That’s every single one of the chavs in Bangor. Every one of them has an uncle/cousin/mate/boyfriend/dad/brother/all-of-the-above who’s a local fighting legend and will kick the shit out of you for looking at them funny, yet said legend never actually appears. These fuckwits can’t even muster the attitude to finish a fight they start even as a group, unless it’s against an OAP or a phone booth!

Not only that, but the rest of locals seem to support these walking-abortions too. The only thing that brings any sort of money into Bangor is the students (themselves not the brightest of sparks to have chosen to study in f**king Bangor…), so the for 1/4 year that they’re not around the place almost literally grinds to a halt. To that end the univrsity and students are hated because they don’t bring enough money to the area to support the dole-monkeys for the whole year and consequently are given a hard time just for being there. So what did the council do to fix this in recent years? Builds a f**king shopping centre in the city centre… When every other unit on the high street is shut already… There are units in this centre that have NEVER been occupied. You’d think they might have learnt their lesson, but they’ve recently allowed the build of a f**king huge new student union complex… 

Perhaps this will help one or two of the chavs muster the courage to actually be the hard bastard they all purport to be… Folks, please, don’t EVER go to Bangor1 Just let.it.die…

By: Gee Allen

By: Pishy wishy

By: alison c

That’s what you get in Oxford.  Extremely rich, or chavs.  There are no normal people here.

As it is a college town the university runs the show.  If you don’t happen to be affiliated with it, then you are just sort of there, like a side show.  Town and gown indeed.  There is no longer a town.

All of the housing is overwhelmingly for students.  All of the family homes have been converted into flats, and neighbourhoods are slowly transformed into party areas for the young and chavs.

The prices are so inflated it’s a wonder anyone can survive here at all.  You can’t, that’s why many are having to leave to nearby villages, or relocate to another part of Britain entirely.

If you have children, do not come to Oxford.  Unless you are rich of course, but frankly, we’ve had our fill of you and the chavs and students.

It is the most child unfriendly place for those of us who are not wealthy.  Every primary school, rather than being surrounded by family houses, is surrounded by flats full of students and parents are forced to have to drive their kids back and forth day and night, adding to the already horrendous traffic congestion that exists here.  Traffic is so bad, it’s a joke.  Let’s put it this way: If you take a bus to Reading, it takes about and hour.  If you try to get from one side of Oxford to another, you’re lucky if it takes less than an hour.  Endless streams of cars are driving down every single road day and night.

If you go out on the town at night, you are likely to find it overrun with biligerant youths who are picking fights, screaming and swearing, breaking things and all manner of mischief well into the morning.  As tourists and townsfolk timidly walk around them trying to ignore it and get on with their business.  Other neighbourhoods have rapes and assaults and shock!  Yes, even murders to contend with. 

You can kiss sleep permanently goodbye.  You will never sleep in Oxford as partying youth are 24/7 here, and every neighbourhood has this youth living in it.  If you call the cops, they will say there’s nothing they can do about it.

Seems like Oxford, along with virtually every other town in Britain, has gone to the dogs.

By: Em

By: eno

Croeserw is one of those places. A place of black, malevolant evil. Everywhere you go, the hairs on your neck will stand to attention. You are being watched – not by trolls, or goblins, but big, fat, sweaty women with more tires than Michelan, and proud tax payers who haven’t worked since 1974. By ladies whose faces have been mummified by thirty years of thirty-a-day. Their curtains twich as you walk their streets.

Who is this person? Their eyes say. What is he doing here? Where is he from? Will he scream when I wave a straight razor at his face? Will they ask questions when I bury him in the woods.

The western mail called this small Welsh village “The Sickest Place in Britain.” As one in five people here claim long term sickness benefit. Unemployment is sky-high, crime is seen as a part of life. It’s a long way to the nearest police station, hospital, job center. And travel mostly relies on public transportation that is shaky at best: sometimes the bus will simply bypass this village completely to save time (I once remember having to wait fifteen minutes when one bus driver stopped outside his house to make himself a piece of toast, and, presumably, sex up his wife, before returning without an explanation of his absence.

The accent is a peculiar type of English. An English language as envisioned by a lunatic. Consonants have magically vanished. “Where are you going, then?” Becomes ” ere ou goin, en?” And of course every sentence begins with “Oh!” and ends with “But”

Roving gangs of “children” wander the streets, shouting and fighting into the night. Their screams could be interpreted as wordless laments at a dark and rainy sky. Everywhere you look, baseball caps, spliffs, empty cans of Skol lager, cigarette butts lie in the gutter like broken dreams. Grown women shuffle down dirty pavements at 5PM like the ghosts of their childhood dreams.

Teenage pregnancy is at such a high rate that women give birth to babies who then sometimes immediately go in to labor.

Once I went into the pub. Big mistake. The local pub is known affectionately as The Bog…take a minute to digest that. It’s called The Bog.

It seemed to loom over me, mist pouring from the doorway, windows became eyes – hungry eyes. Inside, I was subjected to karaoke that sounded like artistic, ironic, sarcastic parodies of the songs that they originally were. I was accused, quite violently, of being an undercover cop. Then approached by a girl who seemed like more of a haggard masturbatory aid than an actual human being with a soul, thoughts, memories, etc and asked for my phone number – I told her it was 12345678910 and she said duly saved it.

Please, gentle soul, i implore you. if you would like to keep your soul and not have it ripped from you, stay away from Croeserw. Far away. never come close, if you can smell Joop and Benson and Hedges, you’re too close. f**king back off! if you EVER come here you will be here forever. You will wear a baseball cap, the peak slightly bent, you will wear underpants that will last you the rest of your life; an immortal dole claimant who’s best years are far behind him. And one day, you find youself looking out the window when a well dressed stranger passes your window.

Stay away. Here there be chavs.
By: aaron

Please, don’t be offended by this as it was not the reason I wrote this, in contrary to belief.
By: John Smith