The male abode on a Saturday/Sunday is the Council built 3 (multi?) story car park. It doesn’t have a roof. Saturday afternoon is a swell time for spotting the local oiky fish-smelling chavvy. In the summer if fine, they’ll be on the top floor enjoying the sunny south coast weather, but if it rains they’ll be undercover, one floor below. little wonder they procreate so well, they have an in-built self preservation button.
There, in their especially appointed abode they’ll party all afternoon swilling down multiple cans of diesel fluid from the adjoining offy, a runner will replenish as and when necessary. All are welcome. All Newhaven chavvies are related anyway.
Pedestrians down below sing along to”It’s Raining Cans” by that lovely old Pointer Sisters number dodging the empties as they rain down on the unfamiliar and familiar alike.
Newhaven is a channel port lying betwixt, Brighton and Costa del Geriatrica, locally known as Eastbourne. On approaching Newhaven by road until fairly recently, the local council announced that the Gateway to Europe was on your doorstep. However locals dubbed this sleepy little town, the A***hole of Europe!!
Interestingly there are no prostitutes in Newhaven. This is unique in a channel port and the uninitiated may spend some time wondering why. The answer lies with the local chavess who abound up the longest street in Newhaven, “Galley Alley” whores (oars) on both sides. If you can find your way up there without getting murdered…
Males, females and sprogletts abound in plenty.The s**t for brains multiply profusely due to council housing and the balmy (barmy?) south coast micro climate of this sceptered isle.
A general description of the male is listed below:
- Head gear Baseball Cap (Prat Hat) No Burberry gear down ere mate
- Upper Body Tee shirt, preferably with a Macee Dee slopped down it. Red at the front and Beckham up the rear.
- Lower Body Trakky bottoms, adorned with major and multiple go fast stripes plus poppers and studs.
- Footy Gear. Anything with lights and a swipe on it.
- Stance whilst stationary. Head bent forward and twitching and shaking. Who said can’t multi task? Highly desirable accoutrements include a roll up with contents especially imported from Dieppe and a can of White Stripe in the other hand. Keeping it all together causes Neanderthal c**v to take his eye off the buggy and it inadvertently rolls off down the street.
- Movement. The c**v moves with a gait which can only be described as ‘walking on eggshells.’ Shoulders alternatively moving up and down with legs bent outwards at the knees and strutting. Apparently, this is walking ‘ard.
- Complexion. Waxen spotty gits
- Adornment. Pseudo plated gold.
Now the female is a sight to behold and well worth an inspection. Now bear in mind they must remain attractive to Neanderthal c**v for Sunday afternoon rompies in the female c**v council flat ’cause they don’t know which Adonis might come a visiting. Local recreation at this time of day is romping with the female c**v. If a male c**v is up late and a bit slow to realise (as ever) what day it is, he may have to endure ‘sloppy seconds’ from the female ape who has already been serviced. She of course will be adorned in a girly pink crop top attached to some crappy designer label from a pound shop. Leggings, black in winter and grey in summer;trainers, white and cheap, obligatory thong bursting out above the leggings in some nauseating colour; Argos gold adorning ear, nose and throat plus fingers and toes.
The sprogs, generally numbering 1 to 3(Kieron,Page and Tylor) and like tadpoles in various stages of development will be fighting for a prime place in the buggy from the charity shop which is suitably adorned in c**v delicacies, filth, crisps,(salt n’ vinegar thankyee) burgers and pepperoni.
Ethnic intrusions are few and far between in this moronic bastia. The chavvy demands for free this and that in terms of handouts and accommodation means the Kosovans have been relocated to Hastings. Even the local Rottweilers patrol their patch strolling in threes.
However, there is a solution… make lager stronger. That way the c**v would sleep longer and deeper, thus finding less time to procreate and would be required to rush continually to the offy for his next 6 pack before they shut for the night. Come on government, open your eyes and solve the problem. Give them an ID card so they can purchase stronger lager cheaper and then sink into continual oblivion.