More Croydon
I am currently living in Queenstown NZ, and have just recently finished working in a ski rental shop for the winter season.

One couple came in to be fitted up for skis, and I noticed they were from Croydon. Having grown up in Redhill, I spent a lot of time drinking and socialising in Croydon when I was younger (about 12 years ago). So I know exactly what Croydon is like.

I struck up conversation with the couple about how their time in NZ had been and how they are liking Queenstown. The guy was chatty and they both loved the places they had travelled to, but were disappointed to be heading back to the UK in a week or two.

I commented about how it will probably be a massive comedown having to go back to Croydon, which got the girls back up in a big way.

"What's wrong with Croydon?" she asked, quite offended. "Where do YOU live then?" she followed up with.

Staring outside the window at the beautiful mountains surrounding the town, I replied "Queenstown".

She didn't say anything else.
(Jboy, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 19:53, Reply)

Burnley
my brother invested in about a dozen properties up there - went with him to sort out a knackered back door, oh my fucking life, I've never wanted to leave a town so quickly.

makes the estate in shameless look like dubai.

edit: and I've just noticed all the previous mentions. though it's ghastly shitness requires this to raise awareness, surely...!
(injektilo smoking the weed that killed elvis, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 19:53, 1 reply)

Savannah Georgia
Savannah Georgia is well known, there's books and movies which feature it's southern culture, beautiful atmosphere and - modernly, even it's creative and artistic flair.

It hosts a film festival each year run by Robert Redford showcasing independent films and has a few different arts colleges, booming fonts of creation - and supposedly a rockin night life.

Bullshit.

We went down when my gf was considering going to the University of the Arts in Savanna and ... holy shit.

I live in Washington DC and have wandered the streets at night passing nods with junkies, killers and and armed thugs. I'm 6'4, 225lbs and I've backed down professional football players (though it was just american football so...)

Savannah made me feel unsafe walking around in the middle of the day.

In DC we kill each other from time to time, and hey - that's understood. But nobody feels like it's "ok"... you know?

In the cultural mecca of Savannah - there was a level of desperation mixed with a righteous victim tinged "I deserve everything I want and it's your fault I don't have it" mentality that outright scared me.

The place reeked of pain, and resentment - and then you take that as a base and you add in the college kids on top - self absorbed, spoiled, oblivious - walking so ripely and tantalizingly through the poorest, most unhappy, and (rightfully perhaps) angry down trodden sad bastards you've ever seen.

Maybe it could have been different, maybe it could have just been a poor town where people worked and tried and did what they could and people would have accepted it ... but those fucking kids... a constant reminder of how easy it was elsewhere ...

I'm not making excuses for muggers, rapists and killers... but imagine a starving beaten carnivore and then drag a fattened prime rib in front of it everyday, day after day while it lives on mud and shit ...

Some people can handle that, but everyone gets angry.

And rich parents keep shipping these rich kids into this dying town, not so much with spending money - but with ipods, jewelry, cd collections and nice clothes and nice cars... and go figure, crime is impressively high there for some reason.

Schooling there was 38k a year. To go to art school. They had degrees in Video Game design, modern art and "design your own degree" degrees (I shit you not)

(The school is so desperate for intelligent students (rather than their usual rich / spoiled / useless ones) that if you score a perfect SAT - you automatically get a full scholarship and can go for free. Which was the only reason we were considering the place really ourselves ... the instructors we talked to responded to my gf like water in the desert. The poor fuckers. )

In an inspired idea deserving it's own reward for brilliance, the university is spread across about 5 miles square of city, a nice idea in a nice city ... a death trap in this one. Campus buildings were dotted across the city between abandoned buildings, angry hungry people out of work and a lot of secluded privacy for fun encounters.

Students were expected to walk or bus across this putrid pit at least twice a day, and up to eight times depending on which classes they're taking.

We toured a few of these building, my favorite classroom had docking stations at every seat - students were expected to bring their laptops everyday as a requirement. When I left and saw a "Used Electronics" store literally a block away, I laughed out loud. Then I felt dirty.

Of course that was one of the few stores I saw open in the city at all, there was a short strip of tourist stores which huddled in the corner of the city (afraid and shivering and knowing their time was coming) and a fair number of bars - and Three separate places where you could get gold teeth made on the premises.

How many businesses can your town support solely dedicated to making gold teeth out of ... "found" gold?

Seriously, if that's not a measure of how fucked up a place is I don't know what is.

Though the fact that every bus in town and most every other advertising surface I saw was dedicated to advertising bail bondsmen was probably another sign. I mean, bailing out your recently incarcerated friends was a booming business.

I have a picture of three drug dealers easily identifiable because of their admirably spot on costuming and their apparent full time jobs of leaning on a drug store wall next to the word "DRUGS" written in 5 foot tall letters on it (Advertising from a more innocent time I assume... maybe.)

I had to admire their moxie and sheer balls for taking advantage of the free advertising and placement.

The whole place smells of rot and decay, partly the southern swamp atmosphere that you can get anywhere but mostly the pungent odor of buildings and people slowly decomposing.

I've lived in Florida across from a paper recycling plant for a year and thought I'd never find a more unholy stink than the rendering and rotten milk (from the 'empty' school milk cartons trucked in, aged in the sun for a week or two and ready to be made into new fresh cartons to put new milk in...) and I found that less unpleasant the stink of flop sweat, fear and despair that this place seemed to have in it's woodwork.

Savannah boasts over 200 individual parks within the city, making it in he city councils opinion one of the most beautiful and natural cities in the world - from what I saw, the population needed them to sleep and shit in.

When taking the tour of the campus and being shown the living arrangements (smaller than usual dorms rooms in converted motels, with bad lighting and secluded stairwells of course) 6 different guides and current students said to us, unprompted and unasked "Yes, the crime is a problem - but you learn to adjust" and then gave us advice for handling it.

"Adjusting" included for these people:

Never traveling in a group smaller than 8.

For one guy - Leaving all his car windows down at all times - because he had learned that no longer having a radio or any belongings in the car wouldn't stop someone from breaking the window anyway, in his case the last time to take his empty slurpee cup out of the cup holder.

One girl explained that owning a personal Taser, and budgeting to keep it charged and to replace it when it wore out was the way to go, though she was thinking about getting a hand gun. "Rape alarms" - hand held sirens you can set off to call for help and scare off a bad guy ... "just weren't effective."

Another girl just decided to give up having a life outside her room for 4 years. In her words "Invest in broadband, it's just... safer. I've made a lot of new friends online."

The crowning moment for me was walking the main street (which if you left at all, you were in danger) and looking between two stores to see a guy who was selling handguns on a little table. He had them spread out quite nicely and a few more on his person and apparently (if I understood the transaction I was seeing) was willing to take trade ins.

I'm betting there wasn't even a waiting period.

All in all, my gf decided to go to another college.

I really am sorry about the length, the memories just came pouring out, I think I lanced a memory-puss-pocket with this one.
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 19:49, 3 replies)

Dewsbury
Enough said. Can i claim asylum elsewhere?
Edit:Home of Karen Matthews. Home of the leader of the London suicide bombers.
Town dying, old buildings left in bombsite way when renovation project monet pulls out. M&S choose to sod off from the town about 3 years back its that bad.

About 1/4 shops empty, only shops opening up recently are Pound shops, Bookies and frozen food shops.

Before anyone mentions the Asian population of the town. To be fair its pretty settled and the main problems are between Asians and recent arrivals such as Kurds.

Someone i know mention that walking through town is like playing Shinobi but with more Ninjas.
(Booked_moss, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 19:38, 2 replies)

Braintree
As the esteemed Prof. Martin says elsewhere, 'a dump' pretty much sums the place up. A small town with a small-town mentality, I'd call it "one horse" but that fucker had the sense to bolt years ago.

I managed to get out for Uni in Manchester for 3 years, but since moved back due to job circumstances and my best mate did the same. Seeing people from our peer group out and about, an oft repeated comment is "you can tell who's managed to get away and who got stuck here, can't you"...
( mr_wicksy is.... old., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 18:51, 2 replies)

Stafford
I know the town where I live and was born & bred is shit because we have a greggs, the mark of shit towns everywhere. The bigger the queues, the shitter your town is.

A town full of chavs, students and pensioners. The high street is one crappy chain store after another, with 95% of shops seeming to be either a travel agents or mobile phone shop. The roads are a waste of space, for some bizarre reason we have two motorway junctions (even though the population is only approx. 60k) meaning everytime theres a slight bump on the motorway all traffic is diverted through Stafford and the roads grind to a stand still - at least once a week.

And our biggest employer? The hospital. Yep, the hopsital that was called the "hospital of death" and if reports are to believed, responsible for 400 - 1200 "unecessary" deaths.

Also, there is a set of traffic lights and/or a mini roundabout at least every ten yards, FACT. My mile and a half journey to work inolves approximately 16 sets of traffic lights.
(Singo69, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 18:47, 8 replies)

Widnes
Complete with animal renderer, human waste recyling, toxic waste recycling, coal power station, the smelly river mersey(once the over flow for the animal renderering plant, which is called The Grannox. As fearful sounding as it is smelly.

Thankfully though, most of the chemical industry has collapsed so the great big chimney that pumped out cyanide has gone =) So has the Golden Wonder factory so everything no longer has thin film of crisp fat on everything.

So I am doomed to a cancerous death thanks to my home town, which probably explains why the drugs and beer are so cheap here =) Which in turn probably explains why the kids round these here parts all start growing beards at the age of eight, girls included.
( Steerable_forehead Our Lady of Blessed Acceleration,don't fail me now, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 17:46, Reply)

Peterborough.
The only city you can navigate purely by sense of smell.

*Sniff*

Hmm. Dog food. Ah! Westgate.

*Snort*

Ahh, baked goods. Orton Centre.

*Hnnnf*

Oil and despair. The rest of it.

That city's only claim to fame is that it has the highest average road speed of any in the UK. Thanks to the endless parkways. Joy.
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 17:33, 2 replies)

Thetford
Need I say more?



Click for bigger (74 kb)
(Biff..., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 17:12, 5 replies)

Sometimes you need an outsider to point out the bloody obvious...
“If you think about it there’s absolutely no fucking way that would work in real life,” I said as we stepped off the train at my beloved home city. My mate Paul and I were visiting mutual friends – it was Paul’s first time here. Paul was a Midlands virgin. “I mean. He gets eaten whole, fucking WHOLE – and then you’re supposed to believe all those stomach acids, fart gasses - fuck knows what – aren’t gonna eat through his suit. And he’d probably suffocate first anyway.”

We walk along the platform, dodging the freshly laid piles of early Friday night vomit and the aggressive pygmy woman with the mop who’s muttering under her breath: “Cunts, cunts, cunts...” as we stoll past. We make it inside the train station proper – a glorious greenhouse of a building with shiny floors and a dead heroin addict being wheeled out the bogs by a couple of paramedics.

“So he goes flying off, gets well and truly light sabred to fuck, and falls inside the big snarly thing with the teeth,” I say. Paul’s looking at the corpse as its wheeled past. A lovely colourful red blanket covering up the human car crash of a life now extinguished underneath.

“What the fuck is that?!?” Paul asks.

“Its a dead person,” I explain. We continue walking, “Just a little way into the centre. Whatever the fuck you do don’t look like you’ve got any cash on you. Pickpockets every fucking where round here. When we get to the centre we’ll find a pub and have a little drinkie. Shouldn’t be too violent round this time. I’d say we’ve got a couple of hours before the evil dead in boob tubes come out for the night,” we go outside and start the trek towards the city centre. “Now – where was I? Ahhh, yes. Boba-fucking-Fett! He gets eaten alive, right? And then apparently in this comic book I read he gets spat out and miraculously comes back to life! Fucking balls! Ohh, mind out here,” I guide Paul away from the kids stood over the flypass gobbing down onto passers by. “Don’t wanna get christened in spit, now, ehh???”

Paul stops. “Jesus, Spanky – has anyone ever told you this place is a fucking shithole?”

I contemplate this for a while. Seems pretty fucking obvious to anyone with the full use of at least one of their senses: “Yeah, ‘course they have... But it’s MY shithole. Now how about going and getting that drink? They might not even be using plastic pint glasses yet.”

And I remind myself: Coventry – its shit, but at least its not Leicester....
( SpankyHanky, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 16:57, 5 replies)

Maine, New England
don't know what it is about this place, but from what I've read an awful lot of weird shit happens there...
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 16:51, 5 replies)

Kharkiv, Ukraine
Famously known as the home of FC Metalist Kharkiv (didn't they play Everton a few years ago?) Kharkiv is one of those places you don't quite think exists. And certainly cannot picture.

The Ukraine was of course part of the former USSR. And like many of the other former states of the USSR, as soon as the people could leave, they did. Much of the country is depopulated. One of the other effects of the loss of the USSR was the loss of state wages to industry and infrastructure workers, such as, for example, road-menders. These twin effects do not combine well.

In a lot of the Ukraine, this doesn't matter so much. The countryside is highly depopulated but most of the people still there are still living in the way they did a hundred years ago, as you can see.



The difference between rural Poland or Russia and rural Ukraine is shocking. As for cities, Kiev is quite rich, L'viv is actually a beautiful little place, and Odessa and Donetsk are also, I'm told, very beautiful.

Kharkiv is not.

We arrived on a Saturday night and cruised into town down the long main road from Kiev, dodging drunks and vagrants who were wandering among traffic as if it wasn't there. Dogs lay dead at the side of the road. Potholes were everywhere and the houses looked more at place in a Bangladeshi slum than a modern European country, as Ukraine wants to become.

We found our hostel round the back of some shops and parked our cars there. The hostel was great by the way at $10 a night - if you ever happen to find yourself in Kharkiv I highly recommend it. It's the only one so you should find it if you look hard enough...

Then we went into town - it was Saturday night! Gotta be something on, right?

Wrong. The place was dead. There was one bar which charged some ridiculous amount of money to get in, and that's all we could find. In fact it was all we could bloody see, since there were no streetlights in Kharkiv. The only place that was lit up properly was the local McDonalds, by the train station. This is Ukraine's second biggest city, with almost 1.5m people - bigger than Birmingham - and it apparently has ONE BAR and NO STREETLIGHTS!

Oh, and in the morning we were prepping our cars to leave. One of the other doors around where we were parked opened, a man came out, vomited everywhere, sniffed a bit and went back inside.

What a beautiful place.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 16:37, 3 replies)

Chard
Anyone who has heard of or visited this place or even had the misfortune to live there will understand.

The name actually speaks for itself
(bluehamster, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 16:14, 3 replies)

Oh No – Not the hose!...

I’ve just moved to a new neighbourhood, and it’s one of those quiet, sickly, inbred communities where everyone seems to know everyone else…from the local carpenter right up to the Mayor. It's one of those hick towns where you can’t rub your bollocks in public without it making the parish community newsletter.

There are no black people, no disabled people, and no screaming sexual deviants to be found (until I arrived anyway)…which is a bit awkward really – cos there’s this woman I've spotted….called ‘Miss Lovelace’ (Honestly! That’s her actual name!) – and I reckon after a couple of Bacardi Breezers she’d be properly partial to being on the arse end of a bit of the ‘rough stuff’…then again, she’d have to lock them shitty yap-yap dogs of hers up in another room though – I don’t want them watching me whilst I’m drilling their mistress up the wrongun.

Now I come to think of it…I reckon they’re all at it round here…There’s just something a bit sinister about all these ‘holier than thou’ types with their puritan jobs…I mean who can survive today’s cut-throat economic climate being just a clockmaker or a florist?...and their houses all seems pretty decent too. It just doesn’t add up - either they’re dealing skank, on the game, or mafia hitmen or something – sneaky fucking cunts they are... I don't trust any of 'em

As for me, the closest thing to excitement I’ve experienced so far round here is when the fire brigade are called out – which seems to happen suspiciously TOO often for my tastes considering I’ve never actually seen a single.fucking.fire break out in the town. Yet at least once a week they’re out, trying to justify their ludicrously overblown public sector salaries on crappy meaningless tasks…whilst I foot the bastard bill for them to spunk on more shitty brass band instruments - freeloading fuckers.


I don’t know how much longer I can take it…I tell you…all it not as it seems round here. In fact, I’m already regretting the day I decided to move to Trumpton.
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 16:04, Reply)

Spanky:
"I once went to Basildon. It was closed, I got chased by a bunch of knuckle-dragged yobs"

Serves you right for going to the Eastgate Centre.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 15:31, Reply)

Basildon
David Amess...

Can that put a stop to anyone else using the phrase 'nuff said'?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 15:27, Reply)

Cheltenham
A friend was moving there, so it was agreed that I'd hire a van and drive him and his partner down overnight. Found his new flat (eventually), had a snooze and them went out to see what entertainment was on offer.

First pub on the right, seems ok. Andy asked the barmaid what people did for entertainment. "Oooh, not a lot round here." Bright smile "We get a lot off fights, though." We take our drinks and sit down. Taking the piss out of the Scots, we reckoned. Turned over a beermat. It's sticky. That'll be the blood between it and the table... "Fuck me," says Andy, "she wasn't joking."

Oooookaaaay, let's finish our drinks (quickly) and move towards civilisation. Ah, this looks better, nice shiny glass and mirrors place. I wander up to the bar and order some drinks." A huge young black guy in a suit overhears me speaking, towers over me (I'm 6 foot 2, so that's a lot of towering) and in a voice that has my sphincter loosening (and not in a good way) demands "Where you from, man?"

"Err, Edinburgh." I say, getting my mental running shoes on. "Edinburgh? That's a fucking great place man."
(Haviland drinking like they're going to ban beer., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 15:25, 4 replies)

Would you move to a rubbish town to be closer to work?
Im currently contemplating moving closer to my job.

Where I live now, is an hour away. But its a gorgeous place and it boasts much better weather as its more sheltered. It has clear blue skies and a calm breeze, rather than cloud and wind where I work. Its got less of a crime rate, and a beautiful Marina with loasd of nice bars and restaurants and boats to look at. The town centre of where I live now is superb. Loads of nice shops and bars. Its only a 10 minute drive into the countryside.

Where I am thinking of moving to, is right next to work, and I could get to work and back in like 10 minutes! Also, more people that I know live here. And going for a beer after work wont pose a problem as I wont have to drive. I dont actually know anyone where I'm living now. So when I go to see friends, I generally travel to them anyway. When my family and friends from further away come to stay with me, they really enjoy spending time in my home town. Whereas I know they wouldnt enjoy it so much where I'm thinking of moving to.

I do over £100 in fuel every month commuting to work, and mileage is piling up on the car and wear and tear running up and down all the time. I would save so much money in moving.

The problem is, this town near work is an old shanty town. In the last 10 years there has been a lot of improvement. But still, its roads have been in a state of disrepair for years. Its full of really old knackered buildings. Big apartment blocks with, dirtyer streets and It has the highest crime rate on the coast. The weather is colder, cloudier and windy'er. Basically this town is generally a bit of a shit hole. Apartments here are older, and therefore dont come with luxuruies like Air Con, Sky TV, sunny terraces with nice views, garage parking and communal swimming pools.

Conundrums.. conundrums! To move or not to move...

Would you move to a rubbish town to be closer to work and to have a better social life? Or would you prefer the status of living somewhere lush?
(Miggyman, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 15:24, 12 replies)

Kilburnie, Scotland
My grandpapa told me fantastical tales of Kilburnie when I was but a wee little thing. I was left with images of babbling brooks, mysterious castles, sky blue lochs and rolling hills. Oh, it did seem idyllic! I imagined happy ginger Scottish people burring at one another and merrily dancing away in kilts.

When my grandpapa was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, I decided to make a trip to Kilburnie to take photographs of all the things and places he remembered, before all the memories went away. He hadn’t been back since he was a child, so I did expect a fair amount of modernization.

I pulled into the town and was greeted with a billboard announcing The Spice Girls’ second album. So I got there 6 years too late to enjoy the awesome excitement that might have caused. But yet, I carried on!

Ah! So there’s the local Presbyterian church! I can show grandpapa the final resting places of his parents and the pews in which he sat as a wee boy. Well, I would, if only the vicious dog would let me through the gates. Oh, it does seem a bit overgrown. And…and…is that a femur poking out of that hole? Way spooky!

Oh, that’s where he used to play football! How wonderful to see this place he spoke of with such glee. Ah, oh, watch where I step. There seem to be a lot of people shooting up around here. Those needles do go right through a trainer, don’t they. Ah, erm, it doesn’t half smell a bit here. I’ll take a couple pictures anyhow. No, get your hands off my camera. OK, here, have a bit of cash. No, not the cash AND the camera, that isn’t a very good deal, now is it, mister! OK, OK, I’ll get lost you bunch of sillysters! Off to the local park I go!

Oh, yes young tracksuited men. I WILL fuck off back to my car! Oh no, I don’t want my head kicked in. No thanks! Carry on tying up your friend, I’ll wander over here and see if I can track down some long lost relatives, maybe they’ll feed me some superyummy haggis and shortbread.

Bing bong! Who da feck areya! Ah, well, certainly you remember my grandpapa, you’re his cousin! Aye, eydoyes, now feck off you fecking cunt. Okie dokie!

Oh, that seems rather rude, the old dear didn't even give me a biscuit. I think I need to try some of that yummy orange drink that people told me about! Dattle be 79 pence, den. Oh, here you go sir! Wheredafeck are ye from? Why, I’m from Michigan in The United States, my grandpapa grew up and raised a family here! AHFECKINGFECKOFFFECKFECKFECKINGCOCKFECKFECKCUNT. Rightio!

I’ll just find myself a sandwich and a cup of tea. This place looks rather nice, I can’t go wrong with a cheese and ham sarnie! And some tea, too, please! Ah, no, please don’t stir the tea with your finger. Um, no, I don’t want the tea now. No, it has your finger and some dandruff in it. No, I don’t like tea up my backside, thanks. I’ll pay for it anyway, but I’ll just have one of those sealed cans of soda pop now. Yessssir, this Irn Bru really hits the spot.

Ah, now that’s more like it! A lovely river! This must be the babbling brook grandpapa talked about. Oh, how peaceful and lovely how the water cascades over the…is that a…large discarded dead dog in the river?

Yawn! It has been an awful exciting day! I’ll just drive back to Carlisle for a nice kip. If only I could find my car…
(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:51, 3 replies)

Swindon, you said?
So, Swindon has been mentioned here a few times, but there haven't been any extensive explanations of why this town is so monumentally awful.

Well, having been a Swindon resident for far too long, I feel that I should elaborate on what it is that makes it awful, so please do bear with me as I go into what makes Swindon vile.

At the most fundamental level, Swindon is just wrong. That is possibly the best descriptive term I can think of for it. Something about the town makes you feel uncomfortable from the moment that you enter it until the happy hour of your departure.

I will not try and make it sound like the chav scum problem, or the poorly managed infrastructure is worse here than it is elsewhere in the UK - the sad fact is that it isn't, but it provides an excellent example of the chav scum sub-culture. There are a number of chavvy neighborhoods, liberally smattered throughout the town in order to ensure that the population as a whole remains thoroughly intimidated at all times. An incredibly low police presence doesn't help the normal, decent folk feel safe either.

Swindon is also used as a test bed for many possible national innovations (most of which fail) simply because the population of the town is considered to be a demographic average of the population of the UK. It's depressing to know that you live in a place that will only ever be average to the companies of the world. It has no character, no beauty, no redeeming features whatsoever. God / Allah / Bhudda / The flying Spaghetti Monster / (insert deity of choice here) has a rain cloud perched over the town of Swindon, forever raining, as penance for the towns sins against humanity.

The railway village (one of the only areas of Swindon that you would describe as having character) has been populated with the worst sectors of scum that you can have in Swindon - so this rare, attractive part of the town is immediately brought into disrepute.

Swindon was the blueprint for the NHS, back in the days that the railway works were in operation. I don't think there will ever be a sufficient apology for that.

There are worse places in the world (I can imagine that Somalia is probably in a worse state of affairs), and coming from Greenock originally, I always looked on Swindon as a nice, civilised place to spend my formative years. When I moved to Munich at age 12, I realised what a complete disgrace the town was.

Did you know that Europe considers the magic roundabout (wikipedia it) in Swindon to be a cruel joke, and most people just plain don't believe it exists. There are occasional husks of cars in the central reverse roundabout from the visitors that stumbled across it.

A night out in Swindon usually results in Violence, abuse, and the intervention of the riot police. This is the normal state of affairs for the town.

I don't know what else to say really. I've been resident in the town for 16 years, and I will soon be escaping to Auckland.

I guess I wanted to get as far away from Swindon as I could, so roughly 15,000 miles was about the best I could manage.

Apologies for the lack of humour here, but I didn't feel it was appropriate.
(Ryushin, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:40, 4 replies)

Like the smell of Cake?
Or more realistically "like the smell of cake from 4 miles away...

....then as you drive closer you fing it more sticky and cloying than a very heavy scented bottom odour. Then even closer the smell really changes into a molten vegetable smell. About a 5 mile radius of evil stench.

Well, you would never credit it but it was the sugar processing plant that made that smell. Boiling down sugar beet and spinning it to make pure white sugar. only about 17% sugar in a beet - so 83% boiled away vegetable as vegetable matter.

It does briefly smell like a fresh biscuit, until the undersmell overpowers the sweet smell. boik.

Bury st Edmunds
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:30, 4 replies)

Thanks B3ta
I now have the pleasure of reliving the horrid experience a spoddy British town that I left a while back.


I moved in shortly after a baby boom in the 60’s, I was looking into a new place to live away from the stress of the city and found a house going for next to nothing in a pretty sleepy looking village. What the agent didn’t tell me was that the place was full of crime and what I believe is mental problems. Shortly after moving in I saw some poor sod run his car into a wall and kill himself, his poor brother took the death really hard and after blaming everyone for the death he eventually blew his own brains out.

It also turned out that being associated with our place was also a bad thing. Shortly after moving in I learned that we were twinned with a town in Russian where a load of blokes went crazy, murdered their wives and their kids. Overall not a good thing.

The final thing that made me leave the place was when the teacher at the local specialist school went into class and blew the sodding place up. Including the kids he was teaching. Shame really as the kids were the only thing that was quiet about the place, true they were a little pale and had wierd glowing eyes at certain times but at least they never pulled a knife on me.

So anyway stay away from Midwich, full of nutters.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:28, 3 replies)

I suppose I should add the obligatory Walsall story
Not long back, me and a young lady were in Walsall for a few drinks with my schoolmates. As we left the Wheatsheaf it was raining quite heavily, so my young lady reached into her bag and retrieved a device for keeping her dry. This was met with a chorus from the local women hanging around outside the pub:

"Ar, lookit yaow with yer fancy black umbrella!"

She turned to me and said "What kind of place have you brought me to where owning an umbrella is considered posh?"

Welcome to Walsall
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:28, 2 replies)

I live up Margaret Thatcher's arse...

Now THAT's a shithole.

surprisingly roomy though
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:16, 1 reply)

The following places are shit holes:
Wakefield - what a dump! Was stuck there on a training course for a week and hated every second of it. (Training was fine, Wakefield was not.)

Doncaster - smelly, smoggy and just ick

Holytown - rough, chav-infested and post-apocalyptic in appearance
(camomile, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:13, Reply)

Hell on Earth has a Name...
Many of the places I’ve rested my hat have been what some might term colourful. Encompassing the entire rainbow from red to signify the blood splatters of a Friday night when someone utters those immortal words: “You lookin’ at my bird?” (Never a good idea to answer that with: “Cheers, mate. I thought it was some sort of hybrid cross between a hippo and a fucking warthog.”); the distinct yellows of vom deposited outside some nameless Wetherspoons (which at last count probably employs round 25% of the local population) or – more likely – deposited all over and occasionally inside someone else’s girlfriend while she’s being vigorously fingered by a bloke named Darren who she met on the way back from the pisser five minutes ago; the rugged browns of the pile of shit stained nappies you find piled up in your garden like a stinky gift from the gods, marvelling as the pigeons merrily pick at the desiccated sweet corn, pecking away at the runny baby poo and gobbling down the chunky bits of encrusted carrot, and not forgetting the pearly white spunk you find splashed up the walls of your local bus stop in the style of Jackson-fucking-Pollack.

And then there’s the memorable places, the bizarre encounters with the natives that leave you wishing you’d been shipwrecked on a cannibal infested desert island with nothing more to barter with than a bag of beads and a couple of well-thumbed editions of FHM. Like the time on Oxford Road in Manchester when I had a bus seat chucked at my head by a load of United supporters because I, stupidly, went to the shops wearing my sky blue Coventry Shitty footie top (tip: don’t wear sky blue near a load of United supporters, they’ll immediately think you follow the bluer half of the city and attempt to stove your head in with the nearest heavy object). But the place that stands out for me the most was somewhere I spent a couple of weeks while on secondment with work. This place is fucked up. It’s strange. The local chav wise men and women (those with one GCSE), should declare it an independent republic so the rest of the UK can declare war on the place and bomb the fuck out of it.

And this place is Newport (the Welsh one).

I can sum this place up with a few of the phrases I had to utilize during my (very) brief time there:-

“No, I do not want to purchase those Addidas jogging bottoms you’ve just nicked from Matalan. And even if I wanted to, the fuck-off big security tag round the crotch area would make mincemeat out of my knackers if I even attempted to put the fuckers on, let alone go for a run wearing them.”

“Yes, I am English. But no, I am not going to – as you so quaintly put it – fuck off back to England. And, no, I really, honestly, truthfully do not give a toss that your team beat my team in the Six Nations. No, it doesn’t keep me awake at night, and no, this orange fella you talk of who’s currently fucking Charlotte Church does not haunt my waking fucking dreams.”

“No, I am not a gayboy because I live in London. “

“I’m sorry – I do not know where the Job Centre is. I recommend you stop smoking that incredibly large spliff, put down that bottle of white lightning mixed with tramp flob, and get a fucking A to Z.”

“No, I really do not think this is a castle. A small pile of pollution stained rubble next to a bus station does not constitute a building, let alone a fucking castle.”

“No, I cannot lend you a fiver. I don’t know who the fuck you are, I’ve never met you before, and if you think I’m more likely to dip my gonads in a breville maker than give you my contact details so you can pay me back later. ”

“No, that is not the case. My mother did, in point of fact, give birth to me in wedlock.”

“I’m sure your growler is ‘as tight as a five year old’s’, its just that I am actually in a very serious relationship and, besides, I prefer not to hook up with girls who proposition me at bus stops. And it might be a good idea if you had a wash first and didn’t have a pushchair with you before you try this again in the future.”

“I’m sorry... I thought you were speaking Welsh. That’s why I didn’t respond to you... Are you on drugs? Do you have a speech impediment or a cleft pallet?”

“If you hate the English so fucking much, why the fuck are you wearing a Liverpool FC footie shirt, you fucking moron?”

“No, we did not fuck each other last Friday night round the back of Hyper Value. I – unlike you – would’ve fucking remembered.”

“I’m sorry – did you just ask me how to spell ‘I’???”

Still... makes... me... fucking... SHUDDER !!!!!!
( SpankyHanky, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 14:07, 8 replies)

Innsmouth, Massachusetts.
Full of inbreds.

The seafood is lovely though.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 13:39, 5 replies)

My mates live at Maple Cross
It's a pub, cafe, off license and a chippy surrounded by a large chavvy estate. That's it.

There's nothing to do, all the chav kids hang around outside the shops untilll it's dinner time, then they come out again until their asbo controlled bed time.

*EDIT: Maple Cross. So shit even GoogleMap Stree View wont go there: maps.google.co.uk/maps?q=maple+cross&oe=utf-8&client=firefox-a&ie=UTF8&gl=uk&ei=64fxSqzhOpXSjAfBlqiWAQ&ved=0CA4Q8gEwAA&hq=&hnear=Maple+Cross,+Rickmansworth,+Hertfordshire,+United+Kingdom&ll=51.624425,-0.509075&spn=0.000761,0.002626&t=h&z=19&lci=com.panoramio.all
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 13:37, Reply)

Rising Bridge.
Its claim to fame is the Hollands Pies factory. And, for some reason, you can tell when it's about to rain because the air smells of Steak and Kidney pie.

There are no pubs to speak of, except for the Farmer's Glory which is full of, erm, farmers. The only shop is a small off-licence which also serves as the post office.

Just down the road is Haslingden, which is full of chavs.

Then, if you venture a bit further towards Manchester, you have Bacup (where Sophie Lancaster was murdered), and eventually Rochdale.

Rossendale. Just nuke the fucking place.
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 13:31, 2 replies)

Reading through these entries...
...makes me feel very smug to have been born and raised in Harrogate, which is just bloody lovely.

Remember: never ask a man if he's from Yorkshire. If he is, he'll tell you. If he's not, why humiliate him?
( prince-igor si tacuisses, philosophus mansisses, Mon 2 Nov 2009, 13:25, 3 replies)