I am told (unreliably) that the word ‘chav’ stands for ‘cheltenham average’. I have no idea how true that is, and I suspect that the true reason will be lost in the mists of time… well, who cares after all? But please read on… what follows is a stream of consciousness, so get yourself a cuppa tea.
What do you think of when you hear the name of Cheltenham? You probably think of some of the finer things in life, such as Cotswold stone glowing in the sunset; coffee houses and smart restaurants; al fresco dining; cricket; horse racing at Cheltenham Racecourse; Gold Cup Week; beautiful Victorian townhouses with their cute wrought iron balconies; chic women’s shops displaying the latest fashions; leafy avenues dappled with the golden summer sun. After all, Cheltenham is the Heart of the Cotswolds. Blah, blah, blah. I could go on, but I won’t.
All of the above exists, sure. But what you don’t see are the chavs. The incredibly fertile, hideous, feral, stoned, shifty, arrogant, malevolent-looking chavs with their unsmiling faces. People are right: they are indeed breeding like rats. You can’t turn a corner without seeing a group of males trying to look natural and hard. (They’re not hard, unless in a pack. Even then I find if you challenge the ringleader they fold rapidly). Just when you thought you were past them, the females hove into view… baby buggy in one hand, double cheeseburger clamped in the other… hair scraped back so far you’d think their facial skin is about to snap… hardness in their eyes beyond their years because they know the ratboys who got them pregnant are never going to be seen again…
Never mind the High Street on a Saturday afternoon, try it on a random Tuesday morning – it’s exactly the same! It’s like being on Safari: “There’s one! Hanging around MacDonald’s!” (Hey, it’s opposite Wilkinson’s – everything under a pound). “There’s another! Can you see him? Pissing in the alley between the church and the High Street, frightening the elderly who like to place flowers in the graveyard and then do a bit of shopping.” “Look, another! Standing outside KFC, spitting at any car that looks expensive!” (Even though they all aspire to have expensive cars).
I do not dislike chavs for the way they talk. I do not dislike chavs for the circumstances they were born into. I do not dislike chavs for their ignorance, looks or poverty. I dislike chavs because of their behaviour: their ‘me first’ culture which is spreading so fast; their aggression, their pathetic fear of being different from the herd, their intolerance and rudeness, their belligerence, their misplaced arrogance, their irresponsibility, their laziness, their lack of imagination, their fear of being mocked, their inability to assist anyone who needs help, their sheer f*****g cowardliness and their despicable unwillingness to get up and do something wih themselves.
I love and hate their cowardliness in equal proportions. Being a bloke who has done some pretty interesting stuff all over the world in the last ten years with the army, I don’t fear much, and I certainly know to look anyone in the eye if I feel they are a threat. Have the chavvy f*****s ever, ever, ever, just once, maybe, perhaps, stared me out? Lived up to their self-styled reputation for being ‘massive’ and hard? Do they ever, ever, just ONCE hold my eyes for longer than I hold theirs? Do they? No. Nope. Never. Not once. I win hands down every single f*****g time. So bang goes their hardness fantasy.
I came to Cheltenham to get away from ignorance and stupidity in London. What a fool I was! Judging from the other posts in this section, the chav problem is becoming an epidemic. So epidemic, in fact, that I have started to see Americans, Candians, Kiwis and Aussies on here as chav-haters who have spent a little time in the UK and still noticed these feral little c*nts. No other country in the world has a group of people who make me so ashamed to be British; xenophobic, homophobic arseholes who, when abroad, gob off disgustingly in the name of my country and my flag and then call themselves patriots; who so instantly and effortlessly bring crassness and intolerance to their immediate surroundings; who infest our once-pleasant towns and create an atmosphere in which our elderly (who, after all, saved the freedom that they now abuse) do not feel welcome any longer.
F**k ’em. I’d better stop now, before I have a coronary 30 years before I’m meant to. I’m off to get a Big Mac Meal. Then I’m going to shave my head, climb a tower and shoot them from afar. Oops, gotta go, I can hear sirens…