Please let me draw your attention to Portsdown Hill, which is situated a mile or so out of Portsmouth and more specifically The Viewpoint, a car park offering a panoramic view of this chav-ridden, Vauxhall Nova infested varucca at the foot of this country we love. From here you can see such wonderous sights as Wilmcote House, a tower block so vast and so full of benefit claiming / swindling chavs and their varied offspring, that it actually used to warrant it’s own social security office. To put this into perspective the rest of the city is catered for by just two offices.
Also on view is the attractive landfill site that is a magnet for chav’s and their illegitimate young to use as an impromptu motocross track on any number of stolen motorcycles.
But it is at night when the Viewpoint really comes to life. It is then that a convoy of Saxo’s, Nova’s, Peugeot’s and Fords arrive in a blaze of neon glory to shatter the peace and tranquility with the relentless booming of their in car entertainment systems. Each car, in accordance with local byelaws has six occupants shoehorned into it, whose faces are not made any prettier by the ghostly glow of the blue/green/red/purple neon strip which is always situated on the dash. The cars then park up on the gravel side by side and on command all the windows will lower which gives the Portsdown chav an opportunity to shout through the line of car windows at his mate parked at the other end of the line. No self respecting chav will venture from the safety of his “motor” for fear of the dust/mud that could collect on his Reeboks.
Until recently it was a closely observed law that all chav-mobiles were required to wheel-spin throught the car park before parking (No mean feat in an 1100 Nova I’m sure) but this recently and dramtically although unfortunately not tragically came to an end. Upon undertaking the obligatory wheel spin one evening an unsuspecting chav “motorist” neglected to notice a stone flick up from his tyre and bounce loudly into a nearby motorcycle causing a small dent to the tank. Now unfortunatley for the young burberry cap wearing fool, the motorcycle belonged to a man with the build of a small hillside. Said man then proceeded to walk to where the car was parked and tapped on the window. When burberry boy lowered the window and enquired “What the f**k do you want??” the large biker grabbed him by his 9ct neck and proceeded to repeatedly bounce him up and down in his seat. On every upward stroke the chavs head made a satisfying empty thud on the roof of the car, his fake burberry cap providing no protection. Shame. When the biker had tired of this he tore the Nova’s wing mirror off the side of the car and then set about beating it repeatedly against the now concussed chav’s head.
I think you’ll agree, an inspiration and a hero to us all.
So there we have it. Portsdown Hill. Essentially Portsmouth in microcosm. A way of observing the chav way of life without actually having to get your feet dirty and venture into town itself.