Living in Stanley Crook, Durham
Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in Durham, North East

I would say Stanley is populated with chavs like every other article on here, but it’s not. It’s not populated with anyone really, unless you count the odd dead sheep and knackered three hundred year old terraced houses. There are tales of a better time, before the council made the decision to demolish the entire village, the best decision they could’ve made. Unfortunately, they f*cked that up and only knocked down a couple of streets before disappearing back to civilisation. The result is a barren collection of streets on a bleak hill, with Internet served weekly on the back of a horse and cart and no shops within two days’ walk. All of the “villages” around here are often referred to as ‘mining towns’ by the few residents hoping to hold on to some vision of anything good coming back to these miserable scattering of huts.

It is necessary to have a cupboard full of tinned food for the winter because of how remote this ‘settlement’ is. Everyone seems to have just given up on Stanley’s existence and as a result the streets have never been ploughed or gritted or paved, although saying that no one in their right mind lives here, or anywhere closely near here, so why would they pay attention. Only occasionally do we make the perilous journey to Crook (see ‘sh*thole’ in the dictionary) to stock up on supplies. That’s if we don’t get mugged/assaulted/raped/murdered/beheaded while passing Watergate (search ‘Mexican prison’ online).

There are no burglaries here, simply because there are no shops, and nothing of value to steal. Sure you might get the odd 10 year old who throws mud and stones through your windows during the night, but that only adds to the excitement(!). We celebrate whenever anything happens because nothing ever happens. The only thing remotely interesting about Stanley is the view, but that never changes and gets boring within about 10 femptoseconds of looking. If you want to find somewhere more decent to live, head about 100 miles east, find a rock in the middle of the north sea and live there your entire life.

Oh, and I nearly forgot, I live near a burned out barn, where some farmer burns wood and releases smoke directly onto our house meaning we’re suffocating most of the time. Oh and the back “street” is not wide enough for someone to shuffle down sideways. Oh, and the lean-to extensions that house most of the street’s kitchens. Oh and the constant horse s**t. Oh and the fact we only have power 10% of the time. Yay.