Sadly this is a true reflection of a town that has rapidly degenerated to the point of shame. I too have ventured down Stockport on a Saturday night, and let me tell you this…Heaven and Hell is a club you go to once, and only once. A truly memorable experience, if only to laugh at the underage ******** and spotty scally lads who all look identical with their shaved heads, stripy jumpers and Rockports (is this so the police can’t distinguish between them?)

And don’t forget the delightful gold clowns that swing round the **** girl’s necks on Argos’s cheapest gold chains – don’t stand too close, they are a deadly weapon in disguise. One toss of their greasy scraped back pony tail and that clown will have your eye out. And there’s no point claiming, because Stockport Magistrates is NOT a place you want to be associated with. Never have I seen so many inappropriately-dressed miscreants congregate en famille…would a suit from TKMaxx cost so much, or even just a top that didn’t reveal the majority of their Loret de Mar tan?? Surely all those benefits should be put towards something other than a 2litre bottle of White Lightning, 3 Big Macs and a pack of 20 Sovereign?

I have to admit I feel ashamed to have to write Stockport on my address, despite being from one of its much, much nicer suburbs (yes they do exist).

OK, in it’s defence…actually, I can’t think of anything. Avoid it.

Welcome to the wonderful world of ****. Rockport aka Stockport is the home of the hustle and bustle of everyday **** bags that pollute our atmosphere. Everyday social rejects from all corners of the greater Manchester District congregate together under the smoke filled glass ceiling of the Mersey way precinct, discussing how successful their days thievery has been, and how little Robbie and Jezzabella are now old enough to stop wearing those old hand-me-down clothes given to them as gifts by uncle tyrone in HMP Strangeways. Let me get straight to the truth. Stockport is ****. If it were possible for walls to be built round this giant cess pitt, then hand me the first brick.Infact, the united nations should lift its ban on nuclear weapons testing and allow the indaians and pakistanis to test their weapons here.
If you ever pass stockport, then a good word of advice is dont stop. By the time you have locked your car door, those ruffians on the street corner who you believed harmless will be off with your tyres and stereo never to be seen again.
The best time to go **** spotting (or hunting for the more daring) is a friday night at Grand Central. Every week thousands of the little ******** pour into the area from the local housing estates attempting to “pull” a girl who no doubt is underage and has more bums than a tiolet seat. The venue can only be described as something of the Krypton Factor or the Crystal Maze, as its layout allows the local **** gangs to hide away from prying eyes and gaze upon their next target. If you manage to pass the gangs unnoticed then you have achieved something quite astonishing.
The local club, Heaven or Hell is not one for the fait hearted. Filled with scally mums with prams, the prospect of meeting someone with intalect goes right out of the window. Besides, why would you go in there if you had a brain cell between your ears?
All i can suggest is stay away from St-Rockport as there is nothing worse.

Believe me.. this is the HOME of the Scallies. They have given so much to the contribution of the scallie.
First… Let me begin with clothing. Undoubtedly, Burberry always wins. However, Fred Perry clothing. Man, this was a biggie. Blue jumpers, white strip and Fred Perry logo. Now, is this a coincidence? Yes. Most of the scallies are unaware that Fred Perry was born in Stockport. We even have Fred Perry way. Surely a haven for scallies.
When I resided in Preston, I was asked where I came from. So, Stockport being the answer. To which a chorus of “When In Stockport, Where Your Rockport” Towns further a field than the local bus route are aware of Stockport. Back to local bus routes, the 192 of death. The most violent bus route in Europe. It all happens between Stockport also. Bus’s burnt out by scallie kids messing with fire works then getting off scott free because they’re mam has 15 kids, each one ending in a high pitched squeal. Example for girls, Toni (Tow-Ni), Kiera (Kier-roh). Usually something ending in Oh (A lower case O) and leaves the mouth wide open at the end of the word. Now, to get somebodys attention, Stockport scallies love a TV program. An American medical show. ER. A Standard conversation would begin with “EEEEE-RRRR Kier-Roh”
Now you have the basis of Stockport, I will digress.
As mentioned in an article already on Stockport, You need to go to watch Stockport County. As described, there REALLY is a sea of cream tartan. I think the Burberry hat exploded upon the Stockport scene because we are known as a Hat Factory town. Hence Stockport County being the Hatters. Old roots never die!
Now, most of this Burberry gear is fake. For those who cannot afford to purchase, or are too scared to thieve these items from All Sports (2 of, one being a Mega All Sports) JJB (Again 2 of) Streetwise Sports, JD Sports, Donnay shop or at a push TK Max, We have the glamorous Stockport Market, for all your fake needs.
Also in Stockport, socks are important. It started about 1997. A number of scallies rode their stolen BMX’s to school. Some noticed it caught their pants in the cogs, so they tucked their trousers into their socks. This was soon un tucked at school. However, one rebel left his pants in. The fashion began. One sock showing. Then, this became two socks. Socks then developed from your usual Adidas and Nike brands to Golf Socks. I dont know when this transition took place, but it was soon replaced with cartoon (cart-une is Stockport) socks. Tweety Pie and Taz were soon a regular sight.
Jewelry is essential. The bigger the bling, the more impressed your scallie-ett will be. Again, a number of outlets. Samuels, Argos (2 of) Index and various just as cheap jewelry establishments.

Undoubtedly, Stockport has a breeding ground for scallies. Grand Central. When opened it boasted to be a Mecca. Pizza hut, McDonalds, A Bar, Swimming Baths, Bowling, Cinema and A Night Club. This is now somewhat run down by the influx of scallies who just sit in the middle shouting their gobs off. The night club soon lost its license because it was rubbish. Re-opened and re-branded, it still is a haven for 16yr scallies trying to get cheap booze, and some giant hopped earring girl to touch them. Heaven and Hell. What a club. The bar, called squares is gone now. And just to take that shine off it, a family Planning clinic. Monday mornings are comedy. You have never seen so many nervous scallie lads pretending not to be with the young ******** as they cue for miles to get the morning after pill. Most of them even know the employees of the businesses surrounding because they are such regulars.

Stockport Council has even cut a deal (Rumored) with Tesco. A new 24hr Tesco is being built on the outskirts of town. It is rumored that this planning permission was only granted so Tesco could employee the masses of people on welfare and benefits. I have heard several accounts of students etc.. who have been refused, even though they could be accepted at other branches. Hmm.. rum.
Well, that should clear it up for you.
Remember, when In Stockport, Wear Ya’ Rockport.

Stockport: Officially Not Far From Manchester.

They used to make hats in the town. In fact, the origin of the phrase ‘mad hatter’ is from when workers contracted mercury poisoning from chemicals used in the process. I can only assume it polluted the gene pool too. The only hats to be seen in Stockport nowadays are of the baseball variety.

To be fair, Stockport has some very wealthy areas. Unfortunately, it has more than its fair share of ****** ones too. The inhabitants of these tend to descend on the town centre in an orgy of Burberry, fake gold and fire hazard clothing material.

The epicentre of **** is undoubtedly the Grand Central leisure precinct, near the rail station. This has all the hallmarks we’ve come to expect from a major **** hangout – the vaguely American-sounding name, the bowling alley, the multiplex cinema, the faceless bar chain and, of course, the usual, ubiquitous fast food purveyors.

However, the major draw is a nightclub called Heaven & Hell (though I suspect it’s more the latter). This is where the lads – sporting the skin conditions of long term Burger King user – go to mate with the Bacardi Breezer toting, high heel tottering female of the species. Of course, these are ***** in their best outfits, but they’re mutton dressed as … well, mutton. All the social skills we’ve come to expect are present and correct:

“What the **** are yews lookin’ at? ******!”

“Beckeh … Beckeh … Coom ‘ere, ya ****!”

Stockport centre is not a good place to be at chucking out time. Anybody with an ounce of class gives it a miss and heads for Manchester instead (although even the big city isn’t immune). In fact, had the IRA parked their lorry load of explosives outside Stockport’s horrendous, architectural eyesore of a shopping centre, they would have been praised for their civic-minded vision.

I’d like to nominate Stockport as the chaviest place in the entire world, and have the town’s name changed to ‘Rockport’. It says a lot about the culture of the people of your home town, when your cultural hotspot isn’t a museum, park, art gallery or even cafe/bar, but a McDonald’s Drive-Thru. *****, or scalls as they’re charmingly referred to, are ferried day in and day out from council estates by a constant stream of buses driven by drivers with nerves of steel. Take for example the train journey from the south into Stockport – pass through my charming village of Cheadle Hulme, and the railway runs freely through wooded field and past tree-lined roads; head further into Stockport and the track becomed lined with giant metal fences, designed to impale any unwelcome visitors. Good job the trains are electric – 25kV of alternating current is an excellent deterrent.

You can meet a **** anywhere in Stockport, from the friendly DSS building, to the Post Office queue, and the Bowling Alley. I was actually quite shocked to see a **** in the bank last week, but as it turns out he was just whinging about his overdraft, and the fact that he’d bought a brand new Fiat Punto Turbo Chev Extreme with 3ft alloys but couldn’t afford the repayments – peasants!!

One local councillor was quite shocked when she found Stockport was on The Idler’s list of bad towns, proudly declaring that 50% of the borough is greenbelt land. What she’d failed to notice however, is that the remaining 43% are council estates, 2% is a giant refuse tip (handily situated near the largest of the council estates for chucking out old 3-piece suites and unwanted kids), 3% is the River Mersey, leaving the remaining 2% to those who actually work for a living as opposed to waiting for their tax credits to come through. Our town is so bad, many people are even considering relocating to Milton Keynes….

Stockport’s most famous hero is of course Fred Perry, the only British man ever to have won Wimbledon, and every day the kids pay tribute to him by wearing his branded stripy tops and jumpers. Stockport is also the only town in the world where the local demolition experts are the kids, and where local businessmen finish at 3pm every day, just before the schools end for the day. Smart move.

Definitely **** central!, the place is ******** with them!, take a walk round and see the sights and definitely the smells!!!. check out grand central on a friday night, the place is awash with fake burberry, white trainers and **** up novas playing “Bangin Chunes!!”. lots of chavetts as well all with BIG gold earings and white tracksuits………..