Chav comes to Cape Town!
Living, as I do, in one of the world’s greatest and most scenic cities, it galls me that chavism has reared its putrid head in the neighbourhood.
Of course, Chavism crept up on Britain through the ages, but here it arrived like an avalanche, after years of cultural isolation, caused by our previous government.
All the companies which had previously boycotted the apartheid state came steaming in en masse: McDonalds, Nike, Reebok, Stussy, Kappa, Bad Boy, Burberry etc etc etc.
In the past, many record labels had not released their offerings – but along with the good, came the bad, and the REALLY bad!
Then we got satellite television, and the associated Channel O and MTv, (the latter cringeworthy in the Chavness of the average interviewee.)
Bling and burberry became the ‘must-have’ stuff.
But, dear people, things got worse… not only was the nation flung open as a tourism hotspot, but the currency took a pummelling, which made it a very attractive and cheap prospect for the average chav who could not afford Bali, or who was bored (or banned from) Mallorca.
Suddenly we had a deluge of bling-wearing Shazzas and Kevins, totally amazed that their dole money could stretch so far!
Four star hotel? Yeah, right! A better class of carpet to vomit on!
Cheap restaurants? Damn fine! Rump steak and chips for less than the cost of a Big Mac back ‘ome!
Booze and fags? A bloody quarter of the price! Come on cirrhosis and cancer!
However much we hated the holiday Chavs, their pounds sterling were welcome in our beleaguered economy, and certain locals took a shine (pun intended) to the fake bling look. (The locals also TOOK the fake bling, normally at knifepoint, from tourists foolish enough to walk about with their ‘wealth’ on display…)
However, Holiday Chavs have caused some of us a great deal of amusement. Now, folk like you and me – wisely – tend to be low-key when visiting foreign climes. Not so the Holiday Chav. He (or she) is here, relatively wealthy, Xenophobic, rabidly patriotic in his attire and language, and just won’t listen to advise. Because he/she knows best, innit?
Apart from the bling-muggings (we TOLD you not to go to that part of town!), they also suffer horribly from alcohol-related problems (TOLD you not to drink it, it’s moonshine! And TOLD you to watch out for the local beer – it is stronger than the stuff you drink at home!), pummellings (TOLD you not to argue with that large Afrikaans speaking fellow about Rugby, especially reminding him that England are World Champs), and sunburn (TOLD you not to go out without SPF 40… especially at lunchtime).
In fact, the sight of Holiday Chavs, burnt lobster-red, walking down the road like they had just been rogerred red-raw by Mike Tyson, because their sunburned legs are chafing really badly, always causes a snigger. As does walking up behind them in the pub, and slapping them on the shoulder, and asking “How’s it going?”
Mad dogs and English Chavs go out in the midday sun!
Chav comes to Cape Town!