I could not believe my eyes. It had only been a year since I had visited this town last, and all I could see as we drove to the camp site where we were staying, were chav’s!
Burberry hats, gold hoop earings, sportswear the lot everywhere!
We stroled onto the camp site, which was situated near Black Rock Sand beach. Hanging outside the toilets (Yes I did say the toilets), were a bunch of teenage chav lads, not surprisingly drinking cans of Carling.
Later in the afternoon we walked down to the nearest pub. Walking down the road to the pub, and we see in the distance three chavettes standing and laughing by a mountain of dirt and rubble. Then, un-expectantly another chavette appears from behind the rubble saying “fukin’ ‘ell, I never ‘ad so much trubble pissin’ behind a fukin’ thing before!” and her posse of fellow chavette’s found this extreamly funny and burst out laughing. Why she couldn’t have just gone to the toilet in the pub I have no idea what-so-ever.
We finally reached the pub, only to find it over-run with chavs. Old and young a-like. Terrible.
Walking back across the beach, and by this time it was late at night, and this beach is one where cars can go on and park up and play on the sand. So we were walking across, only to realise, 5-10 cars (owned by mostly chavs) were all racing up and down the beach. Revving their engines, driving over salty-watered sand (which will later make their cars rot), spinning around in circles, dance and RnB music pumping away as they sped past.
We made it back to the camp site, only to find the chavette’s from behind the dirt and rubble to be on our camp site hanging around outside the toilets with the chav lads. Again, drinking.
I had a restless sleep that night. All I could hear was the common slang from those morons.