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This is a question Rubbish Towns

I once went to Basildon. It was closed, I got chased by a bunch of knuckle-dragged yobs until I was lost in a maze of concrete alleyways and got food poisoning off pie. Tell us about the awful places you've visited or have your home.

Thanks to SpankyHanky for the suggestion

(, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 11:07)
Pages: Latest, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I was totally inspired by the advertising and thought, here is a wonderful place, it has a cat, it has a stoney bridge, it has everything.

Did it heck, all it had was a stoney bridge and even that was in the next town along.

Bah to Stonebridge
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 20:40, 5 replies)
for it is a shit hole of such magnitude where you can't even pick your nose or have a sly fart without it going in the local rag.
Total dump, glad to have moved.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 19:43, 5 replies)
The M65 Corridor
Yes, I know it's not strictly a town, but it contains many and they're all equally bad.

The M65, for those not clued up on motorways, stretches from Preston to Nelson and Colne, passing throught the delights of Blackburn and Burnley, and very close to the pinnacles of urban joy that are Accrington and Oswaldtwistle.

I apologise in advance to anyone who lives in these places (although judging by people's comments on Blackburn and Preston I'm not sure thats needed), but quite honestly they scare me. I think it's the people more than anything, and not in the same old "its filled with chavs" way, although that's true as well. The majority of them just seem so lifeless and languid, or downright weird. It does say something that Accrington has two pound shops within 200 yards of each other, and even the pidgeons there are malformed. Whole areas of houses in Blackburn and Accrington are shuttered, with the demolition and rebuilding on hold. Blackburn is famous for its waste of money on pointless chunks of decorative metal. Also there's a lot of racial intolerance, which isn't good when Blackburn has the highest proportion of Muslims outside London.

Then there's my hometown itself, where there's a massive deal of civic pride, with not a lot of things to be proud of. There's some good parks and a biggish co-op, but the born and bred (and I mean that) Harwoodians go on like it's plated in gold and the delusion is downright scary. Like the village shop in League of Gentlemen. I'm glad I've escaped. I wouldn't go back if my family didn't live there and I wasn't a Rovers fan.

There are diamonds there, but there's a lot of rough.

Edit: Forgot Nelson, where at a 6th form 3rds football match I was in, a ten year-old spectator dropped his flick knives, and then picked them up as if this was the most natural thing in the world. Wasn't so keen on winning after that.

Obligatory "Woo First Post!"
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 18:58, Reply)
Oh God, I have special memories of Holyhead.

About ten years or so ago, a friend and I missed the ferry and had to spend a night here. It was God awful. Drizzly, wet and dull, every house was pebble-dashed and half of them boarded up. There was one semi-decent restaurant and the B&B stank of damp. Never again.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 18:51, Reply)
Southampton is shit
I once went to Southampton on a work course and it was the shittest, darkest week of my life. Now don't get me wrong - I've been to some very dark places, but none more so than this.

Southampton seems to be populated either by pretentious wankers or scum, and nothing in between. Actually, that's not true... I did meet a nice lad who sucked me off in a car park, but I digress.

The B&B I stayed at was a nightmare floral mess run by a little Hitler and the whole place just depressed me.

I hope I never have to go back again.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 18:46, Reply)
Though appropriately named. And maybe better than Feltham...
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 18:28, 2 replies)
It makes me laugh and cringe.
My town is a very small, almost idyllic looking place. If you get enraptured by the scenery, you can almost overlook some prominent flaws, such as:

A public school system so bad that there were 8th graders who didn't know how to read, and 7th graders having babies by high school seniors.
Public water that is frequently either coffee brown or tinged with E.coli.
Gun happy hunters who think that proximity to houses laws are just "suggestions".
A startling amount of domestic violence, often ending in tragedy (there was a triple homicide last year. f*cker even killed the family dog).
People stupid enough to leave poorly closed explosive barrels of propane against the side of their house.

This last one might not seem so bad, unless you live in a place where a lot of people still smoke. A woman's stray cigarette blew up her house and killed one of her sons.

Insert Simpson joke about "Oh lord protect the rocket house and all who dwell within the rocket house" here.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 17:51, 7 replies)
I admit, I haven't been in the centre of Middleton. But I have been to the interchange which is attached to a shopping centre.

Now, for some reason, me and my friends randomly got on a bus which took us through the roughest parts of Bury (AND BEYOND) we have ever seen. I'm crap at geography so I don't even know what the place is called but it was dreadful. Chavs littering the streets, five year olds smoking. Deary me.

So, we arrive at the interchange. By far the freakiest people on earth live here. I know there's always some weird people hanging about bus interchanges, but this seriously took the biscuit. Just keep this in mind when travelling on blue buses in the Bury area - you may end up throwing up in your mouth every two minutes on the journey (a million speed bumps).

Never again.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 17:20, 2 replies)
I've been blessed in my life to live in a variety of some relatively pleasant places, to name a few, Cambridge, Saffron Walden (Essex), Bath, some random town near Guildford e.t.c, e.t.c. However, this is purely because of my family heritage, and my need to get as far away as possible from Middlesborough, the arsehole of the north. Although it is the home of most of my (extended) family, the majority of its human output is, well, shit (my dear old gran doesn't count as she's originally from Yorkshire).

However, upon moving up to the midlands last year, I came across Walsall. And Middlesbrough was forced up into a deft 'second most crap town' on my list. Its not just shit, its the TGOC (google it) kinda shit which has been ingested twice and makes any onlooker vomit within a 3 mile radius. It is the cultural centre of fuck all, its most famous fact being it is near Birmingham. I have heard residents describe themselves as being from Birmingham, they are that ashamed of their home town. (The worst thing is that many don’t know any better)

It looks like, I imagine, what Hull would look like if, in addition to the original plans, the architect had been blind, retarded and made his models out of dental paste. The place has the same aerial appeal as cat litter, and close up, smells pretty much the same. I live in Birmingham, and every time I pass over the ‘border’ to work near there, (i.e. the M6, which incidentally is the worst stretch of road in Britain) a small part of my soul is eaten away. Literally. say the name three times aloud and somewhere a kitten dies.

So in summary...dont go there.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 17:04, 2 replies)
Whenever I'm coming back up the M1 from London, I get about as far as Northampton and I sneeze out a handful of soot. I rest my case.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 16:53, 4 replies)
I got...
...the shit kicked out of me in Basildon once.

Yes, I know that is not funny. But it's true.

Never hang out by Robin's Cinema in 1988...
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 16:52, 2 replies)
Andover- A lament
I've ummed and ahh'd about posting this.

Andover is not by the standards of some of the places mentioned here, a really crap town. It is however not the sort of place that has people flocking from the wider world to come and see it. Furthermore, it can be a downright depressing place to find yourself. When you stop to consider that Andover has such a lot in its favour, you start to wonder how on earth it is like it is.

Firstly; Location. Placed near the Hampshire, Wiltshire border, the countryside is not spectacular but it is consistently pretty. It hasn't been strip mined or used (Salisbury Plain aside) for bombing practice. Despite this Andover is entirely free of architectural distinction. The Luftwaffe dropped no bombs on it and neither has it been ravagd by fire yet it is simply a giant wall painted magnolia. I cannot remember a single truly distinctive building even though I lived there for ten years. Of course, Andover did have an early run in with lunatic town planners. Until the 1870's it had the largest surviving Saxon church anywhere. The town planners decided however that this jewel was a little small and "unsafe." Indeed it proved so unsafe that only four tons of blasting powder were required to demolish it. The replacement Victorian pile does however blend in nicely as it is totally undistinguished.

Secondly, Andover has low unemployment. I mean really low. Some years ago, it actually technically hit zero. Temps were a desirable asset. These gainfully employed masses should be happy and infused with civic pride? Err no. Nights out are still a sort of running street battle with miniskirts. The pub density is very, very high which by a law of averages would suggest that at least one or two might be quiet and friendly but they are in fact all boxing rings with beer taps. Laughably modified cars scrape their fibreglass add ons over the traffic calming as they drive the same circuit over and over again. this always had been blamed on the presence of an Army base on the outskirts which rather ignored the fact that the occupants of said base were almost exclusively older, married staff officers leading their desks to greater glory- not exactly the "tear the town a new arsehole" fraternity.

Thirdly, the ways to escape. Andover is an hour from London by train. Southampton, Winchester and Salisbury- all larger and more interesting- are close at hand. Despite this, Andover retains its victims. Bright, well educated people sit folornly bemoaning their fate as if the roads were plagued by biker gangs and the trains eaten by trolls. I believe the place sapps the will to live.

So there you have it. Andover is surrounded by beauty, suffers little or no deprivation and is a cinch to leave. And yet it is still a toilet. Still I have since moved of my own free will to Miton Keynes so maybe it got to me too.

Length? 1989-1999.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 16:24, 3 replies)
Another one local to me, it’s just off the M5 between Taunton and Weston Super Mare. Locally it’s reputed for its cellophane plant, which when the wind blew across the town, would make the entire place stink like the inside of an arse. This had an expectedly negative effect on house prices and thus the occupants of the town. Another local rumour is that it has the highest levels of incest per head in the country. Not sure I believe that one, but it’s fairly common knowledge that a man in Bridgwater fathered a few children by his daughter.

The other thing Bridgwater is famous for (perhaps a few of you will know it) is its carnival. Definitely not just rumour, Bridgwater carnival is the second-largest in the world, behind Rio de Janiero. They are immensely proud of this fact. The problem is, while Rio’s carnival is a truly spectacular affair, a full-on, city-wide party, with an absolutely ballistic atmosphere.

Bridgwaters though, is 3 and a half hours of floats crawling down the streets. I’m sorry, I understand the attraction of a classic British float carnival, especially for the kids, but once you’ve seen one ridiculously overlit float, you’ve seen them all. As a child I remember being absolutely bored to tears by half an hour in. Yet they push it to new heights every year, and all around the local area committees and focus groups spring up leading up to carnival season.

There’s a sign just on the outskirts – one of the classic ‘Welcome to our town’ signs. Underneath – ‘Twinned with Rio de Janeiro’. I’m willing to bet any amount you’d care that Rio don’t have a similar sign.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 16:20, 6 replies)
New York, New York!
Yup thats right I hate it, not the quaint little town in Yorkshire (That has a cracking shop that makes fudge) but the sodding eyesore in the US. Back in 1997 I was there on business and hated it. Street crime was at an all time high, gang activity was rife and the whole area was totally rundown.

During the 24 hour period in which I stayed I witnessed a number of shootings (A couple were aimed at me) brawling and a couple of nutcases fighting over food. Thank God for my special services training as I don’t think I could have lasted while I was there.

The people I met were mainly soulless looking and seemed like they were serving a life sentence.

Before I get any replies about how lovely the place is and how I might have visited the wrong districts let me tell you that my business trip started at the (Then standing) Twin Towers and was semi funded by the US government. I also got to see places like the New York Public Library but they looked more a fortress than a place to broaden your knowledge.

Pfft sod it I’m glad I managed to escape and my chances of going back to that hellhole are nonexistent what with the wall built around the place and the mines on the heavily guarded 69th Street bridge.


Snake Plissken
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 14:45, 2 replies)
1) It has the 'Magic Roundabout' - Impossible to navigate. Every time I tried I ended up just pointing the car in the direction of the exit I needed and sounding the horn lots.

2) 'Cyber Swindon' in the TV Gameshow was way nicer.

3) It makes Milton Keynes look GOOD!
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 14:42, 7 replies)
Once spent a couple of weeks working in this god forsaken rate-my-pitbull rapefest of a horses armpit in deepest darkest Yorkshire.

It’s a pretty dull place. The most memorable thing that happened during my time there was when I had the biggest, most intense shit of my life. Took a good half an hour and was like giving birth to triplets without an epidural…
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 14:31, 12 replies)
South Shields
Originally I come from a small market town in the south but for a few years I was a regular on/off resident in South Shields, Tyne and Wear. I wouldn't describe it as particularly shitty although at the back end of the eighties it took a beating from Maggie and her band, this stretched on into the nineties when I was there.
My girlfriend of the time was the traditional mix of Geordie women - almost six foot tall, blonde and slender - she could have been a model if it wasn't for the rather bent nose - the result of closing time punch ups. She taught me new swear words and farted almost constantly yet seen from the distance of a Guinness at the bar she was Farrah Fawcett's fitter sister. We'd met in a gay bar in Old Compton Street - I'd been 'experimenting' and the place was nicer than most straight bars - the carpet wasn't too sticky and the toilets were kept clean. She - Helen - had been in there with mates - women tend to not get hassled too much in gay bars although one of her friends was getting a sneaky feel from a short dumpy brunette who'd been buying her G&Ts all night.
Anyway, Helen thought I was a player on the other team and came home with me - I'd a one bedroomed place in Brixton - she said she knew she'd be safe with me...and she was. She also had the usual female thing of wanting to 'turn' a gay man - except I wasn't gay so it was a good night despite the farting (hers).

So...Shields. Helen was working in London but liked to get home to her folks as often as she could. One week we went up. Used the Big Bus thing - the Clipper I think it was called; charged £10 took 10 hours and as many stottie cakes as you could stuff in your gob. Helen slept for most of the journey and then woke up at the Washington services - from there on she bounced up and down on the seat and let me slide a crafty hand down her jeans - I only did that the once on account of the bouncing and her wind problem.

Finally we arrived, I'm standing there with all her bags and cases - my rucksack on my back, while she runs up the road to jump on a short fat bloke who looked rather like the old comic Frank Carson. He must have been bloody terrified to have a six foot blonde Amazon bearing down on him - six four in her heels but he was just smiling and laughing - her dad. Behind him was an even shorter woman - blonde like her daughter but with the largest arse I've ever seen on a human being - for a moment I did wonder if something had escaped from the zoo - leopard skin coats were fashionable at the time I think. When I met Joan I knew where Helen had got her mouth from and one night under their roof told me where her stinking arse had arisen too. Being hugged by her parents was rather how I imagine Willy Wonka felt if ever he embraced the Oompa Loompas - her mum even had the same skin tone.

Enough of the locals - onto the shitty town....

Joan and Fred loved to spend their Sunday nights down the Ocean Road which is where all the best Indian restaurants can be found and on a Sunday back then you could get a three course meal for £4 a head so it was a regular fixture and explained their ample girth. After eating a cracking meal Helen and I decided to hit some of the pubs - she wanted to show me off and I was only too willing to check the place out - Joan and Fred wanted their beds.

The northeast during the summer is rather like a warm day in the Arctic - stinging blue skies and vodka washed winds. The nights all the year round are similar and I with my feeble southern blood felt the chill like a slap from a witch's tit. Helen wore a vest top, six inch high heels, leather mini skirt, and as I was to find out later, no knickers. God, even now my cock twitches just thinking about her.
We had been into loads of trendy places full of fag smoke, neon signs and B.O. - every woman in there more beautiful and harder than the bloke standing next to her. Helen insisted on getting the drinks - she said if I opened my pretty boy mouth I'd end up fucked - I remember raising and eyebrow and smiling slightly - open for any opportunity until she clarified that I'd be pissing blood from my mouth for a month.
This was fine until the last place we went into; I think it was called something like the Star and Garter, something traditional and full of old men coughing up the only coal to be had in the whole of the northeast. No way was I going to let Helen go to the bar here - I'd had enough of being her pussy for the evening now was the time to go back to being real. The place went very quiet as I ordered a half of lager and lime and then noise returned as I added a pint. We found a booth in the corner to sit in and in true classy tradition she let me slip my beer soaked fingers into her wet velvet pocket - she insisted on sucking my fingers after and then dunking them into my drink before ramming them back up her furry muff. We downed two pints like that before my aching balls and full bladder could stand no more - time to break the seal. I asked where the bogs were and got sent out the back of the pub. I'd heard that there was a traditional pissoir in the area - I think the urine was collected for dye or something - maybe they sent it to France to make wine with. I ambled on out into the darkened alley, prepared to find an open air trough.

Instead I saw something that'll stick with me for the rest of my life - one of the old blokes from the bar had his keks lowered and was hammering into a large dimpled arse - in the darkness it was whiter than the fucking moon and only the flapping leopard skin that was wrapped around it prevented my eyes from being completely blinded by its glare. He was huffing away, his emphysemaed lungs doing their best and all the while his greasy flat cap stayed fixed above his sweaty fat face, eyes closed, mouth gurning between each laboured breath until he either had a cardiac arrest or shot his load and the leopard skin and arse shouted out, 'Gaaan on pet!'
Then she turned her head and Joan saw me, 'Eee, hinny! Y'gan next pet?'
Now I've done my fair share of mercy fucks, fat lasses, ugly lasses, pretty boys and fit birds - Christ I'm not choosy, if it's got a hole I'll have a go. But my girlfriend's mother? It just seemed like taking advantage of their hospitality. I shook my head and got on with my piss - I decided to just go there against the wall like everyone else was doing - did I mention I wasn't the only audience?

The next morning over cold toast and hot tea Fred nodded and grinned, 'I hear you saw Joan in all her glory last night then, lad? If you want a go you're welcome. Best bit of cunt this side of Bolden colliery. Keeps us in cheap curry even now.'

Helen and I split up after that - she took after her mother and you know what they say: you can take the girl out of Shields but you can't get half the fucking town out of her.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 13:57, 7 replies)
On the subject of Coventry
Was once upon a time oddly enough twinned with...


How appropriate.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 13:54, 5 replies)
Someone says Hull below...
And I am sure that lot's of people will agree.

However, there are loads of people on here who seem to be getting one-way train journeys to Hull all the time, so it must have something good going for it.

Also, if all of these fun B3tans are there, then at least there would be some like-minded people there.

I think I'll take the advice of so many other posters and get a one-way ticket to Hull for my next holiday. I can't wait!
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 12:51, 3 replies)
A town so shit that Cambridgeshire and Essex ganged up and forced Suffolk to take it in (from the looks of the county boundaries at least).

Now I've had it reasonably easy living in a village just outside of Norwich for most of my formative years and even the three years at university spent dodging the student-hating denizens of the slums of South Leamington Spa was (just) bearable.

Haverhill, for every day of the six years I lived there, made me want to poke my eyes out with a rotten squirrel. This town, who claims to fame include having a roundabout with a laser (believe me, this sounds infinitely better than it actually is) and being the largest town in Europe not to have a train station, is made up of three council estates, two industrial estates and a high street. The most prevalent types of shop are charity shops, car parts shops (for pimping your ride) and betting agents which speaks volumes for the locals.

Ah yes, the locals. The locals fall into two categories: those who work in Cambridge and the fat ugly moaning knuckle-dragging fuckwitted chav dole-scum locals whose only purpose in life is to get completely shit-faced,get into fights and make fat ugly moaning knuckle-dragging fuckwitted chav dole-scum sprogs.

Last but not least is the smell. On the industrial estate if International Flavour and Fragrances, a massive chemical factory that will make the town stink of toilet cleaner most of the time. Mind you sometimes it smells tutti frutti sweets which sparks a craving for pick 'n' mix and leaves you with a sad and empty feeling for the loss of the Woolworths.

Even the ugly moaning knuckle-dragging fuckwitted chav dole-scum locals (well, the rare ones who can string a sentence of more than two syllables together) agree that the place is a shithole and should be bulldozed at the earliest possible opportunity.

It was a very good day when I moved to Attleborough. Yay for Norfolk!
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 12:46, 7 replies)
Home of the trains yet our train station is ugly and small, and the national train museum is in york, we have a rail museum but its small and rubbish. we have a brick train which is home to bats, and looks awful. we have a 25000 seater stadium despite being bottom of the league 2 with an average crowd attendance of 4000.
we very close to catterick so its usual full of training squaddies who think there the bees knees who wanna fight everyone after drinking sambuca all night. the rest of the town is chavs and emos. emos are the worst cos all they do is moan bout the chavs when they are all underage drinkers themselves and seem to cause more trouble in certain pubs.
we have 4 nightclubs one is ok cos its an indie club but its too full of kids. anyone whos been to this dump and most of you will have at least gone through it will know its a dump. cant believe it hasnt been mentioned before on here
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 12:46, 7 replies)
Now there's a coincidence
I'm about to write an article about a guy who grew up in what would fit the identikit crap town in this week's QOTW - shops all closing down as a result of the big supermarket opening, no jobs, kids hanging around with nothing to do.

Except, instead of moaning about it, he's getting on his bike and doing something about it *, cycling around the world to raise awareness of a variety of issues, and is currently well on track to break the world record .

Here's his website - If you click on 'manifesto', he even mentions "shit hole towns" in the third paragraph. Best of luck to him - wonder if he's a B3tan?

* Sorry, that all came over a bit Norman Tebbit, didn't it?
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 12:37, 1 reply)
Chichester, South England
It has 3 Boots outlets, with a forth 'coming soon'.

The people who walk through the streets have a visible (and interesting) look on the faces. A mix between depression and insanity.

Plus, this is were all chavs that have well-spoken grandparents come from.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:58, 2 replies)
Thamesmead SE London
Original Idea: Thamesmead was originally built for "slum relocation" during the 60s and was designed as a futuristic solution to budget housing. Think Jetsons with views of the Thames.

What actually happened: Concrete rabbit-warren perfect for discrete drug-dealing and jam-packed with neds and inbreeds. You may have seen it in "A clockwork orange" or "Beautiful Things". The addition of Belmarsh Prison to the area was I think in part justified on the fuel-saving for the police transporting prisoners from this urban-shit-tip a few hundred yards down the road.

It has got so bad that most estate agents have come up with trendy/ (oxy)moronic names to avoid them trying to sell a house in "Thamesmead". One of these is "Gallions Reach Urban Village". Gallions Reach town is actually the other side of the river ???

Oh and it has one of the highest rates of credit-card fraud in the UK.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:54, 5 replies)
If shitting in a non-toilet recepticle was a pre-requisite
Then the fella i saw shitting in a KFC box and then leaving it on a cemetary wall as we drove through newmarket marks their town out as being rubbish.

I did not clearly see if the colonels special wipe was used as a an Andrex moist (tm).
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:53, Reply)
Cops are useless and the populations dwindling.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:50, Reply)
not the worst town I've ever been to but it is the only place in which I've seen a grown man shitting into a Sainsburies carrier bag on a roundabout.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:43, 9 replies)
I got chased around the station 11:00 at night while waiting for a train to Holyhead by some nutcase spouting scriptures "Lo, as I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death". Sufficed to say I shall not ever again walk through the valley of the shadow of Crewe station. Scary bastard.

And Stafford, what a shithole. Two dire nightclubs so we started our own. Got shut down by the cops after two nights. Was good though.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:23, Reply)
Not to be confused with Warsaw due to the number of Poles who seem to have taken over, 20 to a house and who think sitting in the street drinking and abusing pedestrians, stopping now and again to urinate against the nearest wall is normal behaviour.

Enough said really.

Nothing that a strategic nuclear device couldn’t solve.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:21, 39 replies)
If the streets of London are paved with gold...
Then in Derby it's surely vomit.

Never in my entire time on this earth have I been to a place more thoroughly depressing, miserable and have so little going for it than that cess pit.

Hardly a day went past when a walk to the city centre resulted in some semi-digested kebabmeat attaching itself to the sole of my shoe. The ring road is a joke and to make matters even worse, there's the people themselves, with their mediocre grasp of what constitutes for English language down there.

The last time I looked, the "Pacific" and being "specific" were two very different concepts... not if you're in this part of the world.

And as for that accent? - what is it? - Posh Brummy intermingled with a Yorkshire twang? It's very odd at the best of times.

Oh, and to top things off - they have an incredibly weird sense of humour.

Don't get me wrong, I'm sure there are some nice people that are in Derby.

But I was damned if I could find them.
(, Tue 3 Nov 2009, 11:06, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

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