Theres no place like my old home

Ilkeston,

The home of many a washed up loser and potential nobodies. The chavs love this place, they will never leave and prefer to hang around and multiply threatening to destroy any remaining sense of dignity this town has.

To describe Ilkeston I would have to say that it is a throw back mining town. Traditionally it was a place for men who worked hard and played hard. It is situated on the border of Nottingham and derby and therefore has a split football team fan base, the cause of many an interesting discussion. Ilkeston is also well known for being a racist town; you can see the BNP out there with a stall asking for people to vote for them. Mind you they do turn out nice with ironed clothes and polished boots, which is more than can be said for the rest of its population.

The nightlife starts on a Thursday and continues till Sunday night, with Friday being the busiest. All the local pubs are situated round the "top" of town. The preferred method of drinking, is have one in every pub in a quick succession and continue in a lap of the town. At the end of the lap, it is to be repeated until utter inebriation is achieved.

After eleven it is off to the wine vaults or the poplar. The wine vaults is a haven for the drug taking chav youth, they wear the latest shell suits and fake Burberry. The women all have kids, which I am sure are left with microchips and a DVD of Shrek to keep them occupied while mummy goes to find a new daddy. If you fancy the other place it’s going to be The Poplar. Another dingy dank pub with crap music and teenagers so out of there mind on drugs they prefer to dribble and pull faces rather than engage in a conversation. Both places host frequent fights and it’s the only place on earth where a signal to fight is initiated by looking at someone for longer than two seconds. The tattoos are abundant and on display, more so, on the women’s forearms. Dolphins being a particular favourite.

After the pubs it’s off to one of the plentiful fast food establishments. Most of these people eat at these places for all three main meals and probably pop to MacDonald’s for a quick snack to see them through to the next meal. A fight outside any of these places rarely raises an eyebrow and is considered entertainment whilst munching on a kebab. The correct way to eat a kebab in Ilkeston is to order a large one with everything. You then throw the salad on the floor. Any meat left over is them wiped on shop windows or posted through letter boxes.

In Ilkeston you are considered cool if you have been to prison, deal drugs, beat people up for no reason, hit women, have several children with different women, fiddle the dole and have a council house on the farm.

Other points of interest are Mad Allan. This person has been the source of amusement for many of the generations growing up in Ilkeston. The truth be told is that he has a limited mental ability, but seeing as he differs from the norm the narrow minded people seize on the rare chance to mock somebody less then themselves.

We also spawned the actor Robert Lindsay, who on achieving stardom took the chance to escape and never look back.

All in all a very dim town with no prospects and no nice people. Ilkeston needs to be fenced off and kept separate from ordinary people. I could go on for days about how bad this place really is, but I don’t want to bore you.

At the end of the day I still love the place even though at times I would rather be sticking drawing pins in the roof of my mouth. It is different, that I can assure.

For the passing tourist who pops in for a pint, may I recommend the obbo (observatory pub) It has large glass windows that allow you to gaze at the animals as they go about there day to day thievery. It’s very much like going to a safari park but not having your windscreen wiper nicked by monkeys. However when you return to your car your windscreen wipers may be the only thing left.

Chris Nash wrote: Mike, you may well find that you could substitute any English town name nowadays and find much the same...

Indeed - this is what chavtowns says about Welwyn Garden City:

"This town really is the breeding town of "yung chavs". Thrown out of the house until mum's boyfriend is back from the pub and asleep on the Argos sofa, teenage chavsters are really at a loss for something to do. Even though they're gobby enough to talk their way into out of town pubs who don't care about their age, they have to be seen hanging around outside the "Howard" shopping centre - christ the shopping centre even has a chav name! The Addidas wearing, gold necklace sporting 14 year chav girls have two pass times - cheering on their 18 year old chav boyfriends in their lowered nova's as they race around the central green areas (nice brackdrop, as they pretend to be playing midtown madness on their playstations) or chatting up the 40 stone bouncers on the door of the "cask" wine bar. The only other essential trip is for chav nourishment at McDonalds - the mecca of Chavs worldwide. Chav lads who aren't old enough to be rattling the doors of Welwyn Garden's best take away with their homemade basebin soundsystems from their chavmobiles, take to the roof of the multistorey car park where spitting onto the roof of cars going through the underpass below proves who who is the hardest chav of the week. Welwyn Garden chavs are so low market they scrimp on school shoes from Freeman Hardy and Willis so they can afford nice white Addidas trainers to "hang in". A Welwyn Garden feemale chav's ultimate aim is to get pregnant whilst still in the 3rd year at school, have an abortion and 6 months off school, before repeating the year again. Chav male aspires to get a job in the Sainsbury's supermarket stacking shelves - though of course few of them make it to a full time job once "Her Magesty" takes an interest in some of their nocturnal house visits to fund their obscene petrol bills from doing donuts around the station car park."

It's perfectly true, though!

My humble abode at present.....

"The throbbing metropolis of Gillingham, now pronounced "Gill-i-num" was once a proud and well-to-do area where the local menfolk plied their trade and people were nice and friendly.......Until the filthy, inbred, stenching,drossy chav was born. These shitty stains on the undercrackers of society now have the locals in fear for their lives. Never have the tuppeny jewellers or market stall traders done so well as in recent times. The chav can be seen proudly strutting the streets with their ketchup-stained 'tracky' top and burberry cap. The alpha male can be spotted from afar with his hooded top and 'gold' chains, normally surrounded by a possee of local slappers keen to pass on the chav genes to the next generation. The local haunts are Maccy D's (for the chav hierarchy) and the phone boxes outside the train station (for the rest of the cunts). The train platform has a convenient gate which can be easily vaulted by the more athletic chav, to allow free day trips to see other chavs in the surrounding towns, or maybe just to smoke on the platform and "look hard, innit???" Chavs are not allowed to pay for travel, and if a ticket inspector dare to approach a member of chavidom, then he would be told that " I 'aint got no money, so wotcha gonna do, cunt", and promptly have his shoes spat on by the wannabe gangster. Local ticket inspectors are now wise to this and know better than to approach any cap-wearing, lowlife filth. The local park is the mating ground for the chav, and spunk-stained clothing aplenty can be found among all the shrubbery. Many a time has a chavette been given "a fuckin' good portion" in the bushes after a romantic evening strolling through the high street, maybe taking a quick stop in the Launderette for a quick grope if their passions get the better of them. The more generous chav may even treat his good lady chavette to fish and chips from 'Peters', but this is only acceptable in the laws of Chavitisation if anal sex is a 'cert'. Local folklore has it that over ninety percent of chavs were conceived somewhere between the Black Lion Sports Centre and Gillingham Park. Guests are not welcomed into the Chav camp, and have to work long and hard to make their way up the pecking order. The honour of wearing a ridiculous top, especially a Nickelson, has to be earned, and many old ladies have to be frightened and windows smashed before the retard is granted permission from the upper echelons of chavitdom. Of course, tuppeny jewelry is a must, as is the need to constantly use words such as "savage", "sorted", "innit", "cunt" (pronounced caaaaaaant) and "bastard" (pronounced baaaaaarsterd) - the chav is oblivious to the fact that ninety nine percent of their sad race fall into this category, in fact most have no idea who their father actually is! Feel free to visit this once great town, but be warned - if you don't look like a TOTAL cunt then you won't fit in !!!!!"

And my home town.....

"Worcester is a chav haven, you cannot turn around without there being a chav in your face asking for money or threatening to kill you. Although many look like they live on the streets they seem to have little parts of Worcester dedicated to them and their families. Tolladine, St Johns, Warndon, Ronkswood and Dines Green are places which strike fear into the hearts of the hardiest of all skaters. These areas harvest the most scummy of all the chavs, townies, pikies, kev's, tramp's or what ever you want to call them, that you could possibly meet. The fast food district, i.e. chavland, consists of what seems to be their fortress, Mac Donald’s or Macky D's as they like to call it! This is where they spend their time when not producing more scum. Worcester is infested. When will the day of the chav end!!!!!