Written by Anonymous. Posted in Kent, South East, United Kingdom

Nowhere is safe from the ever-expanding chav army. Tenterden is a picturesque market town largely populated by yummy mummies (don’t get me started…), tory-voting blue rinsers and arrogant upper middle class ‘profesionals’ wasting their lives on the daily commute to their tedious office jobs in London or the nearby towns like Tonbridge, maidstone and Ashford. But that’s not the worst of it…It seems that tenterden is beginning to absorb the overspilling chav population of these last two places. Pockets of Chavdom seem to be concentrated on the Shrubcote estate in the town and also in Wayside, Boresisle and other areas in St Michaels, just next door. The p***y teenagers congregate behind the bank on the Rec, occasionally emerging to terrorise the more affluent offspring of the majority population as they play unawares on the swings. There is also a weird bus shelter/shack hybrid on the edge of the field that serves to shelter the white-lightning swilling, mayfair-smoking retards when it pisses down with rain-can’t risk that carefully gelled hedgehog do (boys) or permed side ponytail (girls) being washed away. On the adjoining field, the porch around the local footie team’s changing rooms serves a similar purpose for larger gatherings, normally refugees from the alcohol and cigarette free under 18’s ‘massive’ that is occasionally held at the adjacent leisure centre. For the adult chav, the pub of choice seems to be the vine-i’ve had the misfortune of working there, and being a normal member of the human race i couldn’t stand it for more than a couple of months. On Friday nights they invade the White Lion just across the road to terrorise the normal people who are trying to get merrily pissed without fear of getting bottled, and without being forced to stare at a gelled, spotty, blinged up specimen of Chavdom. There is an emerging mecca of Chavdom to rival the Vine, however, in the shape of the ‘hotshotz’ sports bar above the 8 Bells, once a nice place to go and now blessed with a dickhead of a landlord who excercises no quality control over who he lets in. For the adventurous Chav, or the ones that don’t live in tenterden and have lost their licences (again) cos of drink driving, the fat ox in St Michaels is another safe bolthole. This being Tenterden, with its listed buildings and high cost of living, the Chav population displays a modicum of sartorial awareness, wearing tracksuits during the daylight hours only. at night, it’s ben shermans, fake designer jeans and too much aftershave for the boys, and tiny tops, visible g-strings and orange make-up for the girls. As it’s a small town, the Chavs are forced onto the number 400 bus to Ashford for their macdonalds and wilkinsons fix of a weekend. All but the brave tend to avoid the Liquid nightclub (the bouncers hate chavs too, and are better equipped to administer a beating than many), instead descending on the classily named M20 (its next to the motorway, geddit?) or Kudos for a spot of lap dancing. In their deluded state, Tenterden Chavs see themselves as superior to their Ashford kin: the rest of the world begs to differ. A chav is a chav, and the sooner someone rounds them up and drowns the lot of them the better.


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