Hayes (in local tongue as “ayes”- Land of the Damned. My cursed luck for having to grow up there, I fled after leaving home for uni and now moved on thankfully. When you get near this dogpile on the A312 from the M4, you are welcomed by clouds of thick grey smoke and nauseous fumes from the industrial estate, not forgetting to mention the Nescafe factory which releases farts of coffee smells night and day, guaranteed to put you off instant coffee for life.
Shopping: ‘ayes has two main **** boulevards: the Uxbridge Road, leading to Hillingdon and Hayes Town. Both provide plenty of broken windows, boarded up shop windows scattered between the ‘grand’ shopping boutiques. Pawn shops, games arcades, bookies and discount shops are everywhere…. they say things are changing, with the big chains moving in – yeah, the nationalised **** firms such as JJB Sports, Matalan and Wilkinson have built spanking new shops, providing the latest chavwear, crummy doilies, curtains and tacky picture frames to adorn the council estate flats. Hayes Town takes a turn for the worse as the self-styled capital of ******* evening wear: Foxy’s (branch 1 and 2 no less), Kurb (to name a few) stock the latest skimpy rags (glittery and spangly) held together with bits of string for the ******** ******** to go crazy for when they want to be ‘clarsee innit’ to go ‘up town’ i.e. Royales in Uxbridge! Argos is present of course and enjoys a monopoly as the unrivalled supplier of gold-plated jewellery to the ***** (9 ct gold is a luxury down ‘ere). Waitrose was bulldozed down to make way for a classy grey plastic Lidl.
People: ‘ayes is constantly bombarded by Garys, Lees, Darrens and Kellys in brand new trackie bottoms, the trademark **** gold jewellery and two screaming brats in a buggy (the same one they used for their five previous kids) that has two wheels missing. Keep out of their way or they’ll drive the death-mobile right into your legs and shout abuse at you for being in their way. Granny ********* i.e. those aged 26-38, adorn the benches during the day with the grand-kids, stuffing greaseball pies from Greggs down their throats, while the brats scream and point to everything that they want once they’ve finished their happy meals. Up at ‘ayes station, there are guaranteed to be a couple of skinny 50-Cent wannabe lookie-likies eyeing up your clothes and wallet/purse seeing if you’re worth much.
Fashion: fake Burberry, every type of white trainers, striped bottoms and big-logo T-shirt you can dream of. Upmarket ***** shop at Matalan. Hair for guys is normally shaved with a gelled down fringe at the front. The girls seems to have made a pact not to wash their hair and pull it back so tight in a scrunchy that their face goes red from the lack of circulation. Most of the girls seem to have nicked the hula-hoops from their old primary school to stick through their grubby ears. They finish off the look with the latest 99p make-up box from woolworths – mascara applied with a thick paintbrush and lipstick that is worn around the lips.
Motors: the town probably hangs it’s head in shame compared to other **** kingdoms probably because the best car they can get is an X-Reg fiesta (we’re talking early 1980’s here ; no doubt with a nicked Xr2 sticker, a subwoofer made for Wembley arena and of course – latest 50 Cent/ Generic Trance album blaring out. 5 of the **** manage to pile in each of these glorified wheelbarrows staring out of the windows at everyone thinking they’re dead ‘ard. There’s always loads of smoke – you can’t tell if its the exhaust or the Lambert Butler **** that they’re all puffing on.
Oh did I mention, it’s the proud home of the Hayez Squad. Nuff said
Don’t ever consider living here
