Harlow… home sweet home…

I hate my town of Harlow and avoided it for the last ten years successfully and without shame, my girlfriend lives in another town so when we go out it's always a rather pleasant excursion beyond Harlow's city limits. Recently however, to make an effort I have agreed to shed my irritating fear or Harlodlions and just grin and bear it for the sake of the missus, who luckily for me... loves Harlow!

The place aint all bad obviously, it's pretty much the unofficial centre of Essex with tons of nightclubs, bars, shops to make any woman swoon and tons of other shit I aint noticed. But when you've lived in a town as long as I have you end up knowing every numpty and misfit the town has miserably got living there. A walk through the town centre for me is a gauntlet of muppets that stop me for a chat when I blatantly for one aint interested and two, totally have no idea who they are.

As miserable and rude as I may sound on here, in the flesh I aint got the heart to stop someone mid sentence and say

"sorry mate, your fucking boring and I don't know ya"

... instead I will stand there and suffer the droll of a conversation that inches itself along on half forgotten memories and people we once knew.

Harlow aint the best place either for my kind of people, most of the town has an average of twenty two kids per family, the fathers proudly walk around in public with a can of special brew in one hand and an Iceland bag of ready meals in the other. The mothers are either teenage track suited double buggy pushing nightmares of pavement hogging mayhem or they are withered middle aged mums carrying bundles of shopping like an Arabian donkeys.

What the town is famous for is what we call "the Dregs". The Dregs are a nickname for those individuals who sit around the town all day drunk, poncing hard earned change of passers by using intimidating means, robbing the elderly and stealing what ever aint nailed down. Now their bullshit don't work on me or my brothers, but it works on mostly those that want to get away as quick as possible and it makes my teeth proper itch. Those horrid words

"alwight bruv, got a spare quid?"

...which loosely translated means

"give me a quid or I'll either fucking pester ya or mug ya"

I mean why a quid? If your gonna ponce and beg why round it up to the pound? Surely saying something like...

"Excuse me... do you have change for the phone? PLEASE!"

...would surly have a better effect with a more profitable outcome, saying the word please would definitely make me consider giving him maybe a five pence... but a whole quid? Fuck off! Fucking Skanks... I hate em.

Another annoying thing about Harlow is the fact that every nobhead or shaven headed youth seems to own a Pitbull, they say that owners look like their dogs and its bloody true down to the letter. Why a Pit-bull? You might as well have a shark on the end of the leash. You walk past one with your football and the little four legged set of dentures has grabbed it and run off...

"Oh it's ok... he wants to play... "

...the owner chirps proudly, oh that’s well and good, but what the fuck am I supposed to do with a ball coated in snot, ripped to pieces and as flat as German woman's chest... do me a favour Pit-bull owners, it's not big owning a Pit-bull and it's not cool, do you know why? Because every chav has one... so pretty please... with sugar on top... walk your fucking sharks on a common somewhere else!

I suppose that really it aint the town, it's the cock ends that live in it... which I'm afraid I can't change so I guess I'll have to live with it... for another 33 long and tiresome years.

Scott