The Ibiza of the UK
So- you’re a chav. You want to celebrate your two GCSE ‘passes’ (probably Es). What better way then a cheeky weekender in magical Newquay, the Ibiza of the UK. So grab your favourite dickhead mates, load up your bitchin’ 1.1L Fiesta (with bodykit) and motor yourself to Cornwall at top speed (75mph, downhill).
You’ve got a fantastic choice of low-cost accommodation. Why not choose one of the many out-of-town holiday villages or, as I like to call them, tented council estates. Or, if you’re feeling a little plush, indulge yourself with a in-town ‘Surf Lodge’ close to the action. Here you’ll be greeted with triple bunkbeds and standard of comfort that not even the French would inflict on their illegals.
With that sorted, it’s time to head out to sample the nightlife. Don’t let the fact that it’s one’o’clock in the afternoon stop you from doing this. Best start in Weatherspoons or get some White Lightning in from Somerfield- don’t want to spend all our pocket money on the first night do we. Once you’ve got a bit lairy, head down to the Central bar. This establishment benefits from two floors of packed bodies sporting the latest fashions from Ben Sherman and Nickelson. Watch out for this season’s must have- an offensively striped polo shirt. Enjoy your filthy pints of Stella Artwat on the patio area and witness the fine display of s**t cars being paraded around the town centre. (This can be an ideal evening activity towards the end of the holiday when you’ve spent all your cash).
Once last-orders have been called, take your pick from Newquay’s comprehensive selection of nightclubs. You’ve got Sailors, which is a chav s******e, or the Beach, which is a chav s******e, or Walkabout, which is a chav s******e, or Berties, Barracuda, Tall Trees, all chav shitholes.
You can escape the chav to an extent at the Chy bar / Koola club. However, at these locations you must beware the Local. Don’t think living in Newquay qualifies you to be local. These types will only give you the time-of-day if you’ve got 6 toes on each hand, webbed feet and you call your older brother ‘Dad’. Oh, and one of those f*****g Kernow stickers on your car as well.
Once the club closes at the ridiculously early hour of 2am (as they all do), you’re unlikely to want to call it a night just yet. Take part in the Chav swimming gala down at Towell beach and make sure you give the Fuzz a hard time when they ask that you put your clothes back on. If you’re lucky you might even end up in a cell for the night, hey it’s better than the Eurotent. And it’s en-suite.
During the day hours, you can partake in sitting on the beach being obnoxious and trying to pull, or getting lairy in the arcade because Darren beat you at Sega Rally.
Of course, no trip to Newquay is complete without getting some hillarous ‘team’ T-shirts printed. Currently in favour are black Ts with pink lettering and a sports-style number. This allows for all manner of witty arrangements such as “Want A 69” or “Up 4 It”. Or you can get your nickname on the back- “Iceman” perhaps. “Cock” would be more accurate.
Boy do I love this place.