Bulwell,on the whole is no worse than any other market town on the edge of a large city. All the local pubs that are left stink of toilets, sweaty feet and cheap paint. So do most of the die hard punters who live in them. Bulwell is not the place for a quiet relaxing pint on a summer’s evening. They do have music on, but it’s drowned out by the police helicopter that’s chasing the local boy racers. The ones who think wilkos car park is for doing donuts in their smackhead dad’s knackered audi, who is in a weed induced comer on a bed of cheap tinnies.
Next is the market, which does get busy when all the buses come in from the nearby areas. A row of cr4p shops awaits. There first point of call is the pound shop to steal what they can. Then it is on to greggs for the kids breakfast. The smaller ones in their wonky buggies get a sausage roll, known locally as a BULWELL DUMMY. Most of the mothers look like they have just woke up in the dogs basket, put on their furry slippers and baggy ski pants and have a wee stained roll up dangling from their mouths.
Every other word begins with a **** when they are on the phone bitchin’ about some other b-hatch whose been sniffing around there scruffy 7 stone wet weed burner boyfriend. You know the type, uses the toilet brush to clean their oak brown rotten teeth once a month, wears his 8 year old sisters jeans around his dirty ankles and a black snapback he goes to bed in and hasn’t taken off for years.
A new doss house “lovely house in multiple occupation” has opened in the old council rent office, across from the police station. Once they are kicked out after slop out and brekky, they can be found begging around the shops being told to eff-off by the shoppers who have less in their pockets than they do, after buying fake tobacco and weed.
If you live on the posh side of the River Leen (Highbury Vale), most don’t venture down the shops until the evening, when the great unwashed have got on the bus/tram home. Just before the market stalls close is best. However by 7pm the place is a ghost town. Just the brave about, on the way to the pub.
