I don’t live there personally, but after walking about there after
21.00 I know what its like. The worst thing about Chalfont St Peter is
that its not just a chav hang out, its also where all the emos go too.
So there’s fights regularly.

I once went there to hang out with the emos, as you do, just as bad as
chavs I might add, boozing, all that shit on the common. First off, I
don’t do dope, this chav in a pimpmobile comes past and demands weed,
then says he’s gonna meet me and beat me by the shop, but nevermind, as
this never happened as he never went to the shop by the common. This is
where all the chavs also happen to hang out, I don’t think the alpha
male was too happy about it, so they waited in the woods until every
person with a fringe was steaming drunk. The chavs started throwing
vodka bottles, so all the drunk emos got all pissed off and were trying
to prove their dominance by saying they’d all fight and ‘blapse the
chavs up,’ which was really quite funny to watch.

They ran around shouting like arseholes for about half an hour, trying
to find the chavs in the small patch of woods on the common (which also
may I add is a drinking and drugs hotspot for chavs). About an hour
later the emo’s are still shouting, trying to be hard, then the chavs
come running out of the woods and all the emos run off screaming and
get beaten the living shit out of, at this point I was safely in the
car, but I’m damn glad I didn’t get involved.

Continue reading “Chalfont St Peter” »

Chesham; situated somewhere in the arse end of nowhere, yet strangely within the miserable London commuting belt, represents Buckinghamshire’s puss filled boil of middle class suburbia. Priding itself on housing a diverse and multicultural society, comprising all manner of colours, creeds, religions, shapes and sizes, Chesham is perhaps analogous with a box of McVities misshapes. It could in fact be argued that the bog standard Cheshamite is a Darwinism defying breed all of its own, but which has evolved by some inexplicable means. This being given, it requires only the most creative of minds to cognitively invent an image of the Chesham Chav – the as yet un-breached plateau of cuntishness.

It is a congregation almost solely of lawless Chavs, both white and Asian alike that exists on the cobbled high street – this being the centre of misdemeanours. Those Chavs making all too premature bids for drinking establishments can be found loitering in alleyways with ‘fags’ and horse-manure role ups (which they were convincingly sold as high quality joint material), consuming low-grade-high-sugar-content alcopops with aggressive reverence. It is the aged folk especially that fall foul of these teenaged reprobates (although sadly enough over-aged Chavs act in the same juvenile manner), as well as anyone who provides any kind of positive input into this turgid ecosystem of pond life.

With the generally celebrated closure of the town’s one and thankfully only nightclub, the outpouring of older Chavish inebriates from various dives during the pub closer mass exodus, gives rise to the inevitable street bound spillage of blood from ‘wife-beater’ fuelled arguments. Police line up around the high street (believe me, there is little else to the centre) with armoured vehicles from early evening for a quick whisking away of the Chavishly aggressive. They’re not shy of the common glassing or even the odd knifing incident here, oh no. The glorious park is a particularly favourite spot for such etiquette, where the pudding-brained Chav might gleefully cast their broken bottles in communal areas, much to the pleasure of young children and animals.

Recognition of the Chav population is no difficulty, they display the same universal uniformity; white Nike tracky bottoms, Ben Sherman shirts, Burberry caps at jaunty angles (imperative to the look – jauntiness of angle denotes level in Chav hierarchy). Not to forget the fat young Chavettes, who are soon-to-be Chav baby manufacturing plants, who admiringly and egg on their bright-spark male counterparts, who are almost certainly closely related.

A terrible shame it is, that Chesham provides refuge to these slag heaps of shit bogey residue, but such is the dual personality of this otherwise serene townscape.