Not the archetypal chav-ville, here in deepest darkest Lincolnshire but well on the way. Chav HQ is now the Drove end of town where they vie for power with the spliff and smack heads. Sleaford chavs favour bikes far too small for themselves and sport off-white baseball caps (only the tribal leaders can pretend to burberry). Most often found: outside Flicks night club and the market cross, littering the pavement and poisoning the air with ‘oi, my mate could ‘av you’, before organising a 10-1 on some poor sod who then ends up in lincoln county hospital.