Where do I start with this awful town, pushed slap-bang in the middle of the polar opposites Rufford (full of posh people) and Ormskirk (full of ne’er-do-wells)?
First things first, the **********. There’s an article on Burscough which talks quite a lot about Burscough’s “Bad Breeding” (which was the name of the article), so I don’t want to dwell on it for too long. But (unless we’re related in any way, in which case please do not) there’s a lot to dwell on.
Burscough are, in a way, the laughing stock of West Lancashire. It’s not the rural dumping ground that Latham is, and it’s not the coastal ketamine paradise that Southport is, so as a result the world has dictated that there must be some stereotype attached to it, just as grossly offensive as the Welsh with sheep or the people writing these articles being hate-filled. Hence, Burscough-dwellers are ******.
Next up: the education system.
I’ve gone through the best education that Burscough has to offer. I spent my childhood in Lordsgate Township, forced to watch the other children playing at Richmond Park, simply a fence keeping us away from the fun.
Afterwards, I spent my adolescent years sad, lonely and depressed, at the ever-wonderful Burscough Priory Science College – or as it’s called now that it’s [allegedly] delved so deep into awfulness that the Rowan Learning Trust [allegedly] had to jump in and save it, Burscough Priory Academy.
It’s not just the opinion of the students that form the belief that this school is a mess, either; Ofsted themselves, the Boogeyman of the educational world, rated them
during my time there. It’s ‘inadequate’ rating was because it was so oversaturated with the problem children being kicked out from their other schools, that over time the people from Burscough became a minority. The *****, drug addicts and 15 year old psychopaths ruled the roost. And it wasn’t just in the school, either. The change became worryingly noticeable in the streets, as gangs of skin-headed boys stoned out of their minds roamed the streets in desperate search of the next, *cough*, “ciggie”, terrorising anyone who happened to be crossing their domain, namely:
- Outside Spar
- Outside Tesco
- In front of the “Burscough” sign next to the bridge
- The memorial
… and anywhere else they saw fit. Nobody is safe.
