(Blatantly stolen from BriteGirlie) Stockton can boast the widest high street in the UK as well as being the birth place of the inventor of the friction match. In 1989 "The Mall" nightclub was voted the best nightclub in the UK . Now, the wide highstreet allows the twice weekly market traders to sell a myriad of 'kwality tat' and almost rotten fruit and veg to the masses of flip-flop shoe'd, 9 carat gold garnished, MarkOne attired female inhabitants of Stockton. The male members are even smarter, I'm surprised these simians are capable of dressing themselves. Again hook-a-duck quality bling, watches from the tuppeny falls (won at the nearby apocalyptic seaside town of Redcar ) muscle vests, Boro shirts and your typical low quality adidas tracksuits. I wish someone would tell these people that nike air maxes were smart trainers 10 years ago. The chavs staple diet consists of burgers from the rat van and Greggs dummies for the toddlers. The elderly population and those too corpulent to physically walk run around in these electric chariots getting in the way of any normal sane human being who for some god awful reason has chosen to visit on market day. On a non market day you can walk up the high street and all you will see is pound and charity shops empty units and pubs selling cheap drink. Chav's/chavettes bouncing around with armfulls of shopping from the local netto/heron in one hand and (of course) the nokia in the other. Five kids in tow each carrying a Greggs bag with a sausage roll in it. Old timers ranting on how it was in the halcyon days pushing around those shopping trolleys. Crazy idiots screaming and shouting to themselves about nothing in particular. Drug addled chav's ripped to the tits sparked out and quasi-tramps adorning the street furniture. Walk past the infamous and omnipresent wetherspoons pub and witness street fighting at its most hilarious and inebriated, women yes women fighting at one in the afternoon usually about "aaar lad" (her partner) no doubt he's been putting it about a bit. The mind boggles as to why, surely one boot ugly chavette is enough for any cretin. Other highlights are Teesside Park a chav haven on weekend. Taking in the latest Hollywood blockbuster or a game of ten pin bowling followed by a pizza at the on-site pizza hut, the less financially endowed chav (90% of them) are there croozin' (meaning parked up, smoking low quality cigarettes and indulging in death strength cider) in their barrymobiles talking loudly about how their Â£100 piece of shite car could see off a porsche 911 'no fuckin worries' with their equally as odious fake burberry hatted nike tracksuited associates. But I digress. Nights out round the town are an experience. The once famous "The Mall" has deteriorated into a nest for chavs/chavettes who aren't tagged and on a court curfew getting smashed on overpriced lager and tart fuel. The chavs are decked out in "armani and navy", chavettes as little as possible usually something nice off a market stall. Dress to depress is the key. The pinnacle of the Stockton experience is throwing out time. Reminds me of the scene out of "big trouble in little china", where the two rival gangs are knocking the life out of each other. Round 'kebab corner' for a pizza or parmo and invariably watch yet another fight and hop into a taxi. Stockton-On-Tees is etched in my memory forever,...... hope you never have to experience it.