Ah, Blyth. Situated 15 miles north of Newcastle, along the coast, it has stunning coastline scenery, and a view of the Cheviots and Scottish border to the North West.
But that is where the romance of this town stops………
This town is the **** capital of Northumberland. The sad thing is, i reckon most of the ‘natives’ would actually be quite proud of it too!
Local amenities are few, the focal point for **** gathering is the market square, they you can see many ***** and *********, with their uniform of lonsdale, addidas tracksuit bottoms, (tuck into their socks), caps and scruffy trainers ******* around smoking tabs. The focal point is greggs the baker, where many unmarried overweight ********* with their 4 kids, (of course all by different dads) stand with their prams eating pasties and pies and talking to fellow ****/*********. If the weather turns fear not they have the ‘shopping centre’ called the Keel Row.
The Keel Row contain many discount shops, which attract the ****’s, often seen looking for new mobile phone covers, or a cheap piece of bling. The large shopping companies, have obviously seen there is no money in Blyth, hence they are all absent from here! If you are lucky you may actually see a **** in here working, what fun to be served by someone with a reading age of 18 months, and a dependency on smack!
Blyth had many drug deaths in the 90’s , sadly the ****’s have not learnt from their history. a common sight is some scruffy ******* trying to sell you knocked off gear for a fix. The local rag is always full of drug busts and ****’s who have got so spaced out, they have attacked their Grandmother etc etc., as well as a ‘who’s who of ASBO’
In this **** hole, it is hard for the **** to find a meaningful career and ordered life. There is a Mcdonalds for those who can spell their name correctly, otherwise its typical **** employment, i.e. folding clothes, packing boxes. However, most ****;s do not want this, so are happy to wait every fortnight for their pay.
Often, ***** can be found down in the local parks, drinking blue pop and cheap wine. As part of **** regulations, they will be a few of them annoying residents with their mini moto bikes and little quads. *********, will be seen getting pissed before the predictable unprotected legover, and nine months later, we have the voucher for that council place.
The town becomes alive every fortnight, when the goverment has to give these sub-humans their giro’s. The pubs are full of them spending our hard earn lolly on drink, tabs and smack. Common site is for the ***** to have their prams in the smoke filled pubs. Additionally a common phrase is ‘I get paid t’morra’, in otherwords, their giro comes. There is no dress code, they dress exactly the same, wherever they go.
There is a special **** dialect, here. Everying second word is f******. The lads speak with a whiny straining geordie accent, which sounds as if they are trying to have a ****. The ********’s, (who are universally orange, due to the high number of sunbed shops), sentences usually consist of 3 words, in between chewing their gums and braining, (hitting) their bairns, (children).
Most of the ****/********* live in the big council estates to the south and west of town. Whilst walking through these, you notice the unkempt kids, used needles and ********* ******* around. There is always a buzzing noise too….no it is not a lawn-mower, it is a mini moto on the path, terrorising some old folk.
Come to Blyth, see it for yourself..Blyth **** captial of Northumberland, (and proud of it too).
