The proud products of a society built on the collapse of the mining industry and the welfare state, the chavs of Castleford adorn street corners like monuments to a town that was built up by their grandparents and subsequently destroyed by the next two generations. In a town where everybody is a blood relative of the person next to them, you have to wonder whether the essence of chavdom stems from bad breeding, or in the case of Castleford, possible interbreeding.
The actual chavs of Castleford (or ‘Cas’ as it’s better known by its inhabitants) are nothing special, Tracksuits, Vauxhall SRIs, girlfriends with Argos jewellery etc; no, what marks Cas out as chav central is the proportion of residents who are actually chav. Recent highly scientific research (namely walking down the high street) points to one in three inhabitants below the age of 30 fitting neatly into the chav box. Castleford is the chav capital of the North, the people there are awful: petty crime, heroin, large exhaust pipes and a trip to the Job Centre every other Tuesday (though not to look for work, obviously) and a bottle of White Lightening.
The people of Cas have all they need for day to day chav life: Burger King, Elizabeth Duke, Supercigs and Cash Converters (ideal for allegedly offloading that stolen X-Box.) A trip to Castleford is a real eye opener, and you need to keep your eyes open because, if you dared to close them, they’d have your wallet faster than you could say ‘XR3i.’
I mean who wouldn’t want to smell weed as soon as you wake up? Many of the inhabitants speak slang that only they understand like ‘mate’ or ‘slag’ which is an insult in may ways. Broken windows are often about due to high crime levels. Many of the residents in Cas are pregnant by the age of 14!
Hardly, any shops are about so they are forced to wear fake Nikes etc. However, there is the exception of Castleford Tigers which is one of the towns only credit. Many people are on the dole as there are barely any jobs about. Why should you come to Cas? Well…you shouldn’t!