Let's move to Wales's worst shithole! This week: Newport, Gwent

WHAT’S it about? 

Like a fatberg-clogged sewer at the bottom of the Valleys, Newport is easily Wales’s most dismally shit-flecked city and was voted ‘most likely to be built on top of an open Hellmouth’.

It is situated close to the English border and Cardiff to give false hope to those making a desperate attempt to escape it before being dragged back and imprisoned in this cell of mud, concrete and white cider urine forever.

Anyone who knows the city knows the sensation of reading a vile story of depraved subhuman scrotes in the news, eg a pet monkey being offered cocaine and flushed down the loo, and knowing by the third paragraph that this vile carnival freakshow whirling around life’s toilet bowl could only happen in Newport.

Any good points? 

A surprising amount of connections to music history: the Stone Roses borrowed the city’s logo for Second Coming, which sucked shit. Kurt Cobain proposed to Courtney Love after being beaten up by locals at TJs and ended up killing himself. Joe Strummer dug graves there.

Wonderful landscape? 

Fuck no. Flat with ditches filled with water by the side of every road. There’s a castle but unlike the majesty of other Welsh castles, you walk through this one to get to fucking Sainsbury’s. Take a moment to enjoy the shopping trolleys stuck in the estuary mud. The country’s shittest castle? Yes.

Hang out at… 

Wetherspoons, indie pub The Murenger, the other Wetherspoons. There are other pubs, but best not if you want to live. Which after 48 hours you won’t. Even getting drunk there is dangerous. You might wake up in a flat in Bettws so obese you need a mobility scooter even though you’re only 29.

Where to buy? 

Newport in Shropshire, Newport in Pembrokeshire or Newport, Rhode Island. Anywhere but this fucking place.

From the streets: 

Cerys, aged 45: “We had a reality show from here once, that Bouncers. Everyone was drunk scum and all the stars lost their jobs. That’s Newport.”

Dave, aged 29: “You can go on the Transporter Bridge if you want but it basically takes you from the prostitutes-and-heroin bit of the city to deserted swampland with howling dogs. Because this shithole is so fucked.”

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The Archbishop of Canterbury on... Vladimir fucking Putin

THIS week, as I relaxed at Lambeth Palace with the newspapers, I noted that Vladimir Putin has caused something of an international stir with his decision to invade Ukraine on the pretext that it is not a real country and therefore should be subsumed into a Greater Russia.

Fuck me with the pointed end of a fucking ceremonial stick, this has got right in among my fucking chasuble and no mistake! My morning’s usually nicely straightforward – worship, Wordle, a wank. Now all that’s out the fucking stained glass window and I’m fucking doomscrolling thanks to you, you jumped up, psychopathic little needledick! ‘Not a real country’? Well, you don’t have a real fucking face so why not start by invading that, preferably with your own fucking fists? Get the fuck out of Ukraine, you rancid, titfaced little twat! No one, but no one gives a fuck about the Russian empire any more, except you! Fuck off back to your dacha in your fucking judo robes and throw yourself around a fucking sandpit if you want a fucking fight because you’re the only cunt in the world who fucking wants this one!

Foreign Secretary Liz Truss has had quite a war so far, posing next to Ukrainian and British flags and adding to the diplomatic effort by encouraging Britons to go join the Ukrainian resistance.

Jesus fucking wanked, the only fucking reason that odious, piggy-eyed fatberg Johnson is still fucking Prime Minister is that you’d be up for the job if they kicked him out and next to you, he’s Nelson fucking Mandela! Of all the feathered neo-Thatcherite, primly-coiffured fucking ninnies who ever bottled chutney for a fucking Tory fundraiser, you are the fucking worst! Do us a fucking favour, Truss: go home, lock yourself in your fucking cellar while this Ukraine shit plays out and don’t fucking come out till someone knocks to give the fucking all-clear. I’d take enough food to last several fucking years if I were you!

Adrian Chiles writes a regular column for The Guardian, the paper edited, as coincidence would have it, by his partner Katherine Viner. A recent one was titled, ‘Who’s the most underated (sic) person in TV? The chap who changes my batteries.’

Christ on a shitstick, look upon the works of Chiles, Cunt of Cunts and fucking despair. A tedious, tenth rate hack who couldn’t let a fucking slice of toast land fucking butter side down without writing a fucking column about it! Seriously, I could smear a lump of fucking fresh dogshit across a sheet of fucking A4 paper and it’d be more fucking readable than the deathly fucking bollocks you dare to serve up on a weekly fucking basis, you dozy, porridge-faced, oxygen-sucking waste of fucking space!

Finally, it seems that rail fares are set to rise by 3.8 per cent this week across England and Wales.

Well, of fucking course they are. As sure as night fucking follows day and a dose of the shits follows fast food, train fares shoot up like fucking Lou Reed in the fucking Seventies! Tell you what, Putin and his fucking oligarchs could take an online fucking course from the UK train companies in rampant fucking gangsterism! You’ve no fucking shame, have you? If you were caught masturbating outside a fucking infant school you wouldn’t so much as blush! Criminal cunts!