Town: Bexhill on Sea
Social Hotspot: Outside the Library
Smoke of choice: “ten sovrin… nah, i ain’t got my id on me”

Welcome to Bexhill on Sea- the town for chavs who can’t afford to live in Little Common, but whose parents love them enough to keep them away from Sidley.
Looking out of the train at the station before disembarking in this lively seaside resort, one can see signs that this is an up-and-coming residence for the discerning chav. A station that once was a boring old, busy, listed building now clearly shows it’s potential for excitement with 21st century modernisation techniques in use, such as broken windows, graffiti, discarded cigarette packets, Special Brew cans and pools of vomit.

These examples of the expanding contemporary youth culture’s diverse and engaging hobbies and interests are proof that Bexhill would deserve the title of “Capital of Culture for the Bexhill-on-sea Region” should it ever be awarded.

As one’s tour takes them outside of the station, one can meet and possibly converse with the friendly locals on being required to join them for the pleasure of sharing a smoke with the ladies. And all of their friends. If a person who does smoke ventures to these parts, local experts say a wise thing to carry at all times would be an extra small packet of cheap cigarettes, with only 1 left. This way, conversation is limited to
“ay, mate, don’t suppose you’ve got a fag I can have do ya?”
“Sorry, I’ve only got one left”
“alright …. ‘ere, my mate [Kylie*] reckons you’re well fit”
“fack off [Liberty*], I’ve got a boyfriend”
“no you aven’t”
“shu’up”….
Thusly leaving oneself an opportunity to quietly leave while your new friends discuss whether or not [Darren*] counts as a boyfriend after “fursday night raand Edgerton” (the local park).

Now one’s tour ventures past one of the centres where exchange students congregate, and if one cares to observe the behaviour of “townies” (local lingo has it) in their natural habitat- administering blows upon German students “cos deyre fuckin nazis innit, dats wot my nan says and she’s 39”.

If one moves along prior to be mistaken themselves for Nazi students, one can observe the budding social life outside the King Fried Chicken (KFC-the land Trading Standards forgot). This corner shows a perfect slice of Bexhill’s expanding multiculturalism, as travelling folk and their descendants from Sidley meet with the native residents to discuss and mime their most recent amateur boxing [moral] victories. Look carefully and see patches of saliva, which demonstrate the recentness of the cultural turnaround, showing how the locals’ palates can still not quite manage the taste of brewed Belgian imports combined with cheap fags.

Across the road from this gathering, one can now see Sackville road, with it’s many kebab houses to cater for the growing Turkish cuisine and Belgian ale enthusiasts. Opposite the first of these that one sees is the library and it’s bench. This, apparently is truly a great place for chavs right across the South East to meet and arrange what parts of their social lives have not already been previously discussed by text messaging. A word of caution from the experienced- chavs have a strict code of honour when it comes to fleeing from a possible fight. If one walks alone past certain areas not wearing a white Nickelson zipped and hooded top and is started on by a group of these people, it is considered impolite not to stand and let 15 yobs kick one’s face in as 5 fat slappers hold them down, as it would not be “playing fair”.

I could write more about the “You Bexhill peeps ain’t ready 4 da Biggin Hill massive” graffiti’s portrayal of upcoming civil strife, or more about the town in general. But to be honest, I’ve got to walk this route in an hour’s time, so I’m going to try and think of a more appealing mental image than this town. Like envisaging film titles such as “Bestial Betty’s Animal Hospital Romp Volume 9”.

Avoid here if at all possible.

*names have been changed for legal reasons

There was once a time where it was possible to escape chavs by leaving urban areas. However, now this is not the case, as even the tiniest villages have seen the desperate need for degeneration. Welcome to Little Common, as the name suggests, quite a sleepy retirement village. If the elderly all move to Bexhill, it’s only so that they’re a short drive away from their parents here. But, on closer inspection, this place has a grand total of about 15 chavs, ages ranging from 8 to 16. Yes, the population is this small, but that doesn’t dishearten the village’s aspirations of grandeur.

There are places where these chavs have clearly marked their territories with scrawlings of “Little Common Massive” and “LCC” (Little Common Crew), and have even decided in places to divide theirselves into West Side and East Side. Already I can see the upcoming gang warfare that will be needed to decide what tough urban lifestyle leads to harder and more streetwise (correction-avenuewise) chavs. Is it the gruelling existence of a 3 bedroom Semi-Detached ghetto, being forced to live on your dad’s income as a doctor, or is it the brutal reality of having to be tucked up in bed every night at your expansively gardened bungalow?

What makes life even harder for these chavs is that because there are such a pitiful amount of teenagers in the village, all the shopkeepers know them and avoid serving them at the 2 places that sell alcohol, barring the pub, The Wheatsheaf, that one of their mums works at. Then again, in true chav fashion, occasionally one of the girls gets given a bottle of Lambrini (a whole 5% alcohol, like a giant bacardi breezer!) and they get to pass that around between a group of 10 or so. And possibly, to prove what heavyweights they are, they’ll drink their share through a straw on a roundabout.

Why won’t chavs just realise what they are, instead of trying to leech off of a culture that is dull and pointless anyway? If you are one of the infamous/unfamous Little Common chavs reading this, remember: You are middle class. You were brought up with a well-spoken, English accent. You live in a once pleasant and peaceful retirement village.
You are not a gangster.

why does evry1 mug brighton off if u actually became a chav u wldnt get started on by no1 because u will soon begin to no evry1 if ur hard and not a pussy the only people who get started on are if u think ur solid wen u actually aint and if u give sum1 da stare on be lairy or say u no people and they dont no u e.g(sayin u no tmc) hardly any1 hangs around town in the day so i dnt no why evry1 worrys

Ah, good old Uckers.
Uckers is a many sided town. On one hand, you have the fat middle aged beer swigging cricket players (but we love them), the fat old aged beer swigging pentioners and on the other, the fat middle aged beer swigging chavs.
The chavs come in all different shapes and sizes, you have the chav mums with thier Lolita like chav girls in crop tops and bling, the teenage girl chavs with the Croydon face lift, face curtocy of Superdrug and an addiction to Elizabeth Duke at Argos. The boys, are 4 foot tall, high pitched tossers with a love of ‘Carberini’ and proclaming everything ‘Cushty’.
They mainly hang out in the glamourous spots of Halfords, McDonalds, Under 16 nights at the Broadway where the girls get off with eachother, and that weird seating area behind Tescos where the Civic Center is.
But I suppose, without Chavs, we wouldn’t be on this list, so I thank them for that. Tossers.

Hastings, where the scum of the earth live. chavs. I have the most unfortunate task of living in hastings and i must say the chavs are a grimy piece of s**t on the reputation of hastings. All in all hastings is a good place to live. (it is less chav infected than croydon where i used to live). But that doesnt mean they are gone.
They hang around near McD’s and burger king. they pollute the town with their comments like “What the F**K did you say about my mum?” and “Oi mate can i borrow a fag and a pound.”
At night they thrive around the nightclubs and pubs.
At 12:00 one night i heard a long scraping sound. I looked out my window and saw some chav scraping a bin down the road. I shouted at him and went back to sleep. They are the scum of society and they must be stopped!