Holywell, North Wales. Site of pilgramage throughout the years to St Winifreds Well, which the brown heritage roadsigns proclaim to be The Lourdes of Wales. They should also read “I Live Here” and brandish a picture of a burbury-clad Strand-Bandit baring his rat like- teeth as a warning to all who enter.
I went to School at Holywell High School, which had a full complement of chavs. They were from either The Strand – the big council estate that the school was smack bang in the middle of, or The Holway: a charming area just on Holywell Town Centre’s boundary which was even rougher than said Strand
Unfortunately being in the middle of such high society meant that we also got the dregs of society foisted on our already over-chavved corridors. Such as the charming individual from the Wirral who, rumour had it had been excluded form seven schools before she arrived on our doorstep. She bullied everything that moved, including our own bullies and then pulled a knife on the PE teacher.
Now, I grew up in Greenfield, or rather in an area that is called Walwyn on old maps and is between Greenfield and Bagillt. My parents moved there 35 years ago when the street was surrounded by fields and there was a bus almost once a week to the near by market town fo Holywell. The residents used to be mainly elderly couples who had spent their whole married lives there. They were’t busy bodies, but they looked out for their neighbours and there was a very easy, gentle sense of community there. It was indeed a lovely place to grow up. There is a farm at the end of the road and when I was a child the cows or pigs used to escape every now and again and the nighbours would help to round them up. Ahh, my idyllic childhood.
The farm no longer keeps livestock because if it did the chavs would have rustled it and have it on a spit roast in their front garden. Things started to go wrong when Mancunian chavs started to emigrate just past the English / Welsh border. The peaceful street was basically shat on from a great height by gobby townies who caused trouble at every turn. The street has never really recovered from this: the chavs attracted their own kind, and we started to get chavs ‘on the up’ from the Holway and Strand estates. It all came to a head about four years ago when a family of travellers stopped travelling and moved into the house across the road from my poor parents. The father is constantly in and out of prison, but is generally out long enough to keep his wife in a permenant state of pregnancy. Their litter of children run wild, are extremely abusive and are making life hell for the residents who can’t get out because most of North Wales knows that this bunch of gypos live there so will never buy a house there. The sixteen year old she-chav has now taken over her mother’s mantle and is about to drop her first sprog.
However, I would like to bring hope to all of those out there who dispair of the rise of the chav. On Monday of this week they finally torched their own nest!!!!!! Screams were heard; smoke poured from the roof. The fire brigade turned up and doused the flames and thirty seconds later the police turned up and nicked them all for criminal damage. I haven’t stopped laughing. If I had been able to forsee the event I would have bought all the decent neighbours toasting forks as a celebration gift.
With a bit of luck this will be the fate of all chavs: to become so indecently STUPID that they irradicate themselves.