Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in East Sussex, South East, United Kingdom

Ah Brighton, shown on the telly as a great place to be…NOT!

Having lived in Brighton all my life and i so agree with everything everyone else has posted about it, i cannot believe they have missed out the friday/sat night ritual on the strip.

The strip ( or marine drive) is a long piece of road underneath the main road. This is where u find every sad chav/chavette with their A reg astra/ford fiesta parked up. Drinking and smoking and eyeing up each others cars! Most of them around the chav whos nicked a stereo from halfords and has it on full blast to impress his weighed down from all the argos rings that are making her ears/hands go green chavette. Most amusing is at the end of the night when he goes to drive home and has to be jump started!

This starts about 9-10. Before that its straight into the Sega park ( amusement arcade) to see if they can “do” a machine. Or onto the pier to impress everyone with their broken leg walk. Oh and the screech of Trrrraacccceeee as Shazza calls to her mate on the strip from half way up the pier, whilst holding her 8th sprog called Usher.

The new thing ive noticed is the trend to wear one trouser leg higher than the other. Very odd that! Whats that all about!


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in East Sussex, South East, United Kingdom

For every shop in Brighton, there are about 1000 chavs. They all hang about at churchill square shopping centre and those tacky arcades which they may as well own as they run amock in them. There is also the ‘Event’ nightclub where they have under 16 night s or whatever they are called, ive never been so i don’t know but i know the basics of what goes on. Walking as if they have thorns in their feet, with their ‘Schott’ hoddies, which is a must have brand if you’re a chav in Brighton, and their crappy TN caps and trainers. With their hats pointing skywards at an acute 10 degree angle, their 6 foot high ‘prison white’ trainers, and not to forget the excess and pointless bling (which is blatently fake). The chavs are bred in Whitehawk and Moulscoombe, the run down outskirts of Brighton under chav rule. But it is easy to outwit a chav in Brighton, if you aske a question to a person next to you, which is not involving the chav in anyway, the chav will try to be clever and answer it themselves but all you need to do is respond to their answer and they are immediatley baffled and have MUG! on their foreheads. At times, the chav will interrupt a conversation you are having like this for example,
“its like having hypothermia” at this point, the chav will butt in and say (this is deliberate text talk so please dont let it influence your decision whether to post this or not)
“U callin me ypofermia?!”
“Uhh, yeah!” I replied to this chav as it is a real story, the chav looking puzzled and shocked at an answer as he thought he was acting ‘Well ‘Ard’ and responded by saying
“Oh dats ok, i dunno wot it means”
Point proven, the chavs in Brighton are about as common, if not more (if possible), than chavs in Liverpool. NAH! Impossible! Brighton, home to the second most common breed of Chavs.


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in East Sussex, South East, United Kingdom

As a resident of Brighton and Hove I happened to spend a very relaxing morning perusing the various stores and shops in Brighton’s North Laines the other weekend. It was wonderful mingling with the cosmopolitan crowd that tends to gather in the city, leafing through second hand books, sipping coffee in one of the many independent cafes and arranging my evening’s entertainment with the help of one of the many flyer’s advertising the diverse and unique nightlife the city has to offer.

It was only when my wife suggested we pop up to the Churchill Centre that my heart began to sink. The journey there began pleasantly enough, but once we turned on to North Street it went hurtling downhill. It would seem that Brighton is in a Civil war between Chavs and normal people, with the battle line being drawn at the junction of North Street where “Pound Stretcher” sits snugly opposite “TK Maxx”. Anything south of here belongs to the normal people, anything North – is firmly chav territory.

I perhaps need to justify my position – so lets take a look at plethora of activities the North of the town has to offer our chavvie friends;

The Churchill Centre, a virtual adventure playground for p***y chavvers-where Burberry caps and Von Dutch T-shirts are the norm, and chavs of all ages run amok. Amongst the various delights are; H-Samuel, and McDonalds as well as a range of sport shops selling white trainers and shell suits – what more could a chav want?

If it’s a suit for a court appearance they’re after-look no further than the massive Ciro Citterio situated on the corner of North and West Street – here they will find an array of p***y garments, from ill fitting slacks, to horrendous patterened shirts, sure to impress the ladies on a night out.

Talking of nights out, surely West Street is the mecca for any discerning chav. Why not start the night with a couple of aftershocks in Yates’, followed by a few pints of watered down beer in McCluskey’s, then on to either The Event or, if they’re feeling flush, Creation. Here, they are sure to find Ben Sherman well represented, the ladies will be either too young, or outrageously old, wear next to nothing and make them work hard for a chavvie kiss ( a bottle of 20:20 ought to do it.) And if fighting’s their thing, a good scrap is guarunteed outside either club once the doors have shut for the night.

And you know what the worst thing is-the chav’s in Brighton aren’t even cool chavs. At least in London the pikers actually set the chav trends for each season – in Brighton, they are a good six months behind the times – I even saw an entire family dressed in two – tone jeans the other week, which pretty much sums it up. I love Brighton, but to say it doesn’t have a chav underbelly is to say Gazza doesn’t have any regrets…


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in East Sussex, South East, United Kingdom

Well guys, sorry to disappoint any pretentious wannabe Brightonians out there but… Brighton is a Grade ‘A’ s**thole!
I’ve been studying in what I first found to be a charming seaside town, full of exchange students and wonderfully intelligent people with ideas to share on life and a high percentage of witty, stimulating conversationalists… then… I moved off campus and into the great town of Brighton (or ‘London-by-Sea’ as it is increasingly aptly known).

Home to one of the highest rates of homelessness and drug related rime, Brighton was once the jewel of the South coast and chosen holiday destination for Mad King George’s son, George, whose ‘beach hut’ (otherwise known as Brighton pavilion) still stands proud in the center of Brighton. And by the Gods how things have changed.

Now the pavilion grounds are home to a bunch of roving homeless alcoholics (just as any open grassy area in Brighton, come to think of it), as well as the scene of many a friendly punch-up betwen gangs of local chavs. A meeting of any stranger in Brighton will doubtless lead to you making the acquaintance of an interesting person from any one of hundreds of different nationalities, British towns, or most usually London. If you are lucky enough to make the chance acquaintance of a local Brightonian then beware! Of the ten that I have actually met in my two years here, one has been a violent-minded outspoken thatcherite (capital not deserved)… “she was for the people I tell you, the people”!.. tell that to the inhabitants of many a northern town now languishing under the closures of pits etc… Another was a convicted paedophile who used to work for the Kray twins “not actually *for* them as such, they controlled the other side of the river”… and another is a knife-wielding maniac, imprisoned once for attempted murder and twice more for other, lesser crimes (GBH and ABH, if I remember correctly). Otherwise, true locals avoid carrying cash, valuables or anything less threatening than a butcher’s knife just to avoid marauding psychopaths like the greater part of Brighton chavs are…

All of this set against a background of ultra-rich London playboys (and girls) that infest Brighton’s classier nightclubs and drive ludicrously expensive cars which cost more than their age in tens of thousands. The chavs, not to be outdone, drive their barried-up novas with a rainbow of colours streaming from between their alloys with louder and louder RnB and rap streaming from their car stereos, only drowned out by the straight-through exhausts that make a noise like an ageing chainsaw chewing through a pile of rusty cans. On average, at least three police cars can be heard each day on Brighton’s busier roads (the rest take the back way), usually followed by an ambulance or two and a fire engine – just to be sure. The main road into brighton from London is a constant death-trap, the local florists do a tidy business in recycled wreaths with an A-B-C list of possible epitaphs.

Drinking establishments for the chavs are numerous, the ever-popular Creation is of course present, next to the ‘walkabout’ (actually staffed by genuine Australians in a rare departure from the norm), and across from the ever-present Weatherspoons, where the local chav is presented with his usual choice of fine lagers, Carling to Stella to suit even the lightest Burberry pockets, which are strangely not so much in evidence in the town. I can only assume that Brighton, as home to the fashionable elite of our times, such as the unforgettable Britney Spears and Boxing sensation Chris Eubank, has bred a kind of ‘superchav’ or chav royalty. Of course, they still bear their burdens of 9ct gold rings, necklaces and earrings, (maybe 10ct, this is the richest part of the UK after all), but seem to have moved on to trendier pastures than Burberry… a la mode at the moment in Brighton is an obscure variant of the FCUK theme, although stepping outside into the midst for half an hour to find a chav and ask him his opinion on cool would be enough to find out its name, I hope you can sympathise that I simply can’t be bothered to at this time of night… as well as a french ‘label’ that produces yet more identical-looking, thin wearing articles of clothing that nobody but a chav would ever pay the 10 quid that the stolen equivalent would cost.

Brighton town council has made a good job though, top respect to them, of keeping all the chav hangouts (which include a tanning studio in a gaming arcade of all places) in roughly the same place, one street, the imaginatively titled, and aptly chosen for its easily-remembered name, West street. Here is where you can find a 16-year old willing to satisfy every twisted pleasure you could imagine while her boyfriend holds your coat, a selection of the finest eateries a pissed-up chav could want, and any number of abuse-hurling, drunken twats on their way to a ‘right sesh’, or discussing the ease of ‘finding someone’ in such a small town in a pub toilet. For a delightful selection of local tales, such as ‘the one where the girl gives a guy a BJ outside a taxi-rank at club closing time’, or ‘the one where some guy twatted me in the face after hitting my mate with a balloon for half an hour, then claimed that *I* was being lairy and looking for a fight when it went to court’ look no further than the local cab drivers, who are full of humourous stories… oh, wait, that last one was mine, damn.

Anyway, not that I have anything personal against the chavs of Brighton, but this place is crazy. The famous St. James’ street, known for it’s ‘alternative feel’ so to speak… is home to the one 24hr lager selling shop in Brighton with its nightly clientele and unofficial doormen, the Glaswegian alcoholics, who I think got lost down here and kept drinking what they had begged for the train fare… whereas they come on duty at around 4am, in earlier hours you can find a medley of pleasant people storming up and down the place shouting ‘fa**ots! you’re all fa**ots! Come and have a go you qu**r scum!’ then running off when a group of them actually talks back… or the BMW RnB dudes gesturing suggestively at 14 year old girls as they walk out of a pub… most pleasant of all is the crazy-looking woman who follows you up and down the street and as you stop to roll a fag points you in the face and says ‘don’t you case me, I’m watching you’ before storming off in the opposite direction to the one she was originally walking in.

Nutters aside, though absolutely no description of Brighton could ever be complete without them, relevant or not, Brihton is THE place to be for the aspiring southern chav. Tim Westwood was once reputed to be DJing in a tent at the Radio 1 party, and a particularly impressed looking chav who had apparently been invited to his afterparty but ‘got lost’ and ended up crashing a student party, he had, of course, to be moved aside and forbidden from knowing the name or number of the party he had just left (probably to buy fags and water) was easily deflected by a reply of ‘ye m8’ to every utterance he made in the fifteen minute-long ‘conversation’ – one thing you can say for chavs – they’re easily moved aside if you can look them in the eye long enough…

So, advice to anyone thinking of travelling to Brighton, be like the wise locals, carry nothing of value, as an 18 year old American girl recently found out losing all of her earthly possissions, her cash, passport and, bizarrely, surname in a chance meeting with one of the more enterprising chavs of the area; don’t look anyone in the eye, or indeed at them at all if they are more obviously pissed or otherwise chemically charged (you learn a kind of peripheral sixth-sense for the intoxication levels of people you meet after a while), and practice by building up your running speed and find out where local police stations are before you come. Don’t get caught out after 4am when police coverage becomes dangerously low, and keep a spare twenty quid handy for the extortionate taxis in case you are desperate.


Written by Anonymous Visitor and posted in East Sussex, South East, United Kingdom

post office queue, in the co-op, london road, brighton

2 catagories of person:
pensioners = pension
chavs = giro

top chav hang-out. qualify for chav status, you must:
1 wear as much gold jewellery as possible – preferably 3 or more gold hoops in each ear, lots of chains & 2 or more sovereign rings on each hand
2 have some kind of England logo on your person – football shirt, t-shirt, bag or tattoo
3 ensure your hair is dyed (bleaching works best) & style it with lots of gel for that “just got out of the shower” wet look
4 if you are female, ensure that your legs are on full view by wearing the shortest denim mini skirt you feel you can “get away with” – this works best if you are slightly overweight
6 wear midriff revealing tops – works especially well if you have recently given birth & are having trouble geting your “figure” back
6 dress your offspring as a mini me

there are many chavs on london road. this is due to a kentucky fried chicken, MacDonald’s, Iceland & poundland all within spitting (sorry!) distance of eachother. it’s also on the bus route to moulsecombe & bevendean. the best chav conversation i’ve overheard was one oldish chav woman telling another how her daughter had given birth without realising she was pregnant – she thought she had a tumor – if her mother was anything 2 go by, i’d say she probably didn’t realise the “extra pounds”