Welcome to weston-super-mare where you can eat skanky fish and chips cooked in hydrogenated oil from last summer season, Where you can go for a drink and get attacked by the local scum that walk the streets looking for a 10 bag…. Have a walk on the beach but watch for the dog mess,broken bottles,condoms and sick from the night drinkers. How about shopping??? Great if you want to either buy a mobile phone,a book from a charity shop or spend your last pound in poundland (thats if you can get inside the shop, once the scum have got their giro you will have no chance of getting anywhere near the place) We have a new pier but you will need a bankloan to feed the greedy owners bank balance. The best thing about weston…..Junction 21 on the way out

By: ben

Richey Edwards from the Manic Street Preachers is quoted to have said about his hometown “if Blackwood was a museum it would be full of shit and rubble”. Chorley on the other hand IS a museum made of shit and rubble.

If you want to experience life in a 19th century slum town with everything bad about the 20th century added for good measure you could do worse than visit Chorley, or Charley as the tracksuits call it.

By: ranton

Portishead.  The band. Also a place. With a rather unique and confused bunch of chavs. 

 A bit of geography. Portishead is eight miles north of Bristol, on the muddy shores of the Severn Estuary.

 Pose yourself a question. What kind of house – and householder – would you expect to find next door to a grizzly coal fired power station, a phosphorus factory and a fertiliser processing plant?

 Now pose yourself another question. How happy – and how lucky – do you think that chav in their chavilla would be if the power station and associated heavy industry was to be replaced, over a ten year period, by a lovely spanking new marina, complete with bars, restaurants and fishing boats.

 Pleased? Happy that their £10,000 “more of an ensuite shed really” has risen in value by twenty-fold while they were lying there, slumped in the corner dribbling on their Donnay tracksuit?

 No. They are bitter. Bitter bitter bitter.  Their town, their lovely seething cesspit of phosphorus, ash and dust has been robbed from them.  And now there’s outsiders. And they don’t like outsiders. With their trendy eateries, with their yachts and their Audis. 

But fear not my Portishead Chavs. Because the planners are smart cookies and they’ve thought of you. You’ve got yourself a McDonalds. With a hundred metres of dual carriage way alongside – specially for you and your mum’s car. But wait it get’s better.

Do you remember where the phosphorus spoil heaps used to be?  The part of town that Ordnance Survey clearly label as “Ashlands”? Well the developers have, sweetly, renamed it the “Village Quarter” and built some lovely little sheds for you.  So now you can live next door to Bristol’s overspilling  nouveau-middle class – with their slightly superior taste in sportswear, unfettered racism and fixation with jet washers.

So there’s the Portishead chav – not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Loxton Drive had to be one of the biggest two-faced estates ever created. Full of alright people from numbers 32-39, the scum that filled this sh*t from numbers 20-31 and 40-51 beggared belief. Ford Fiesta cars parked in the car park for 2 years without being moved, simply highlighted the disdain of which the council viewed this little oasis of faeces. Like any other council estate (funnily enough, the majority of the houses in 2003 were private!) there had to be the customary sofa and kitchen set outside in the middle of the car park. Oh how the little shitbags loved to play in the freezers that were there for months. I myself used to be well involved in the delightful games of ‘pelt the car with walnuts’. That was so much fun. Ah, bliss. But then I realised when I was 13, that it’s time to move on. But not the real Loxton Drivers. No no.

The real Loxton Drivers are the people that ensure the estate stayed in the deep f**king sink it should be in now. I’m not sure, as I haven’t been back for 5 years. But Loxton Drive was special. Special in so many reasons that people now aged between 16 and 26 who lived on the estate in the late 1990s, I am sure have records. They’re probably there now training the younger generation up on how to deal drugs, get arrested 16 times before their 16th birthday and how to shag around the estate whilst catching as many STDs as possible.

I could name names. But I can’t. How overly personal that would be. Mind you, if the people that this was relevant for really did find this article, one would be flabbergasted at how such shit can access the internet. Funny how the poorest families always have enough for ridiculous luxuries. Can’t say I had an overly privileged background. But I did go to school. That’s the difference.

And here we are. The end. But if any of you ChavTown explorers wish to pioneer a cuddle-mission into this shit hole, then look no further than the glorious Number 5 bus. It is truly a reason to end all forms of public transport. First, I salute you for continuing to run the service. But not for hiking the prices on the Bristol-Bath train, which thank god I no longer have to get.

Goodbye Loxton Drive. I know it’s a few years late, but I am f**king glad you’re gone.

You will only know Nailsea if you have lived in or near there. I have lived in the village next door to it for ten years. It is a hellhole. It is degenerate, grey and the people are just disgusting. All thats there is a new look, a SOMERFIELD and a superdrug and oh yes, a TESCO. Everyone is either old or on benefits. Single mums galore. Everytime I go home from University, the very atmosphere makes me sick.

The desperate ‘alternative’ wannabes with their skinny jeans, dyed hair and h&m jackets, to the other extreme of ‘hoodies’ who hang around the town centre in an attempt to look threatening; in their dark hoodies, horrible hair, their tracksuit bottoms and their desperate air hanging around them, and in the meantime shouting obscenities at old ladies,  and living in the large proportion of council houses. Oh and a skate park, which you should only go to in the day unless you have a death wish. If you grow up in Nailsea, you will never leave. Ever.

Bath is a small city in Somerset that tourists from all over the world visit to see the Roman Baths and Georgian Architecture. They are lucky because they only visit for a day – some people have to live here which I did for 7 years. It is full of some of the most unfriendly people in England, (and that doesn’t even include the chavs!) The chavs live in areas such as Twerton and Whiteway where riding stolen mopeds and motorbikes is popular. Another favourite pastime is beating strangers up with baseball bats or iron bars. They like to congregate in Kingsmead Square where they have fights with chavs from towns like Trowbridge and Chippenham. The older chavs go to the Lamb and Lion where cheap booze and even cheaper 16 year old chavettes are on offer. They have the worst Somerset accent which is chavved to the max and say things like “where’s that to?” and “10 lamburt butla me luvva!”. For an after hours fight they go to XL’s nightclub (formely Cadillacs). The shopping centre is being redeveloped but there is still a Sports World and more mobile phone shops than in Japan. There’s a McDonalds which always seems to have it’s windows smashed in. A guy was attacked outside here a few years ago by a gang of chavs who he accidentally made eye contact with. They also used a stun gun on him. Not all chavs in Bath can afford these and can’t even afford pizza. This explains why a man was attacked in the Homebase car park and had his jaw broken. The 2 chavs stole his takeaway pizza! Bath also has dozens of homeless street drinkers and druggies and the most aggressive beggars in the Western world – “spare 12p for tha night shelter mate?”. Also, more people in Bath support Man Utd, Chelsea and Arsenal than anywhere else in the world – which is why Bath City FC are still non-league!

Bath – lovely for a day trip, but don’t miss the last train out of town!

chav’s the retards have infested everycorener of bristol now! you can’t even go for an old fashioned big mac with out hundreds of the fake burberry clad morons making the place look like a shit hole. they think they are above the law we need concentration camps for chavs have done with them they aint nothign special just a jumped up bunch of nobodys but when it’s in your face and on your doorstep something needs to be done! they have even started employing chavs this is how low england has sunk who would employ a chav to deliver things seriouselly they’ve probably stole most of the stock and sold it for fags or fake burberry from the markett god damn you f**king morons and your fake burberry.

chavs are like decaying peices of cheese nobody wants them nobody loves them but the smells always there.

chav haters of yate

I had occasion to visit my daughter in Bristol a week ago & was instantly aware of something not quite right about the place. No Chavs! In my entire four day visit I saw not one baseball cap worn with the peak above the standard 90 degrees to the forehead. Tracksuit bottoms were worn outside of socks & even the local J.D Wetherspoons contained only regular folk enjoying a quiet drink.

On visiting some other local licensed premises, not one person enquired as to “What I was f**king looking at?” even though my accent betrayed me as a thicko Northerner.

We visited the Cribb’s Causeway shopping centre & again the place was Chavless. In my home town of Hull, security staff would be employed full time squeegeeing Burberry slime off the mall’s walkways & engaging in a spot of Scally slapping as they ejected the vermin.

My question. What is Bristol’s secret? Does the local counsel employ full time Chav exterminators or is there something more evil lurking unseen by daytime folk which has eradicated this blight of less fortunate cities?
If anyone knows, prey tell, & I will pass the information onto the city council of Hull

Chav Nirvana – Where everybody will be your “Luuuuvvvverrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”

Staple Hill/Kingswood. OK so imagine that you are the product of inbreeding. Not only this but as a child you were repeatedly dropped on your head from the 40th floor of the local council flats. Also picture coming down off a 78 hour drug fuelled binge, 20 litres of White Lightening for breakfast and then factor in that you suffer from severe learning difficulties. If you add all of these basic components together you can generally get a pretty good idea of the average Staple Hill/ Kingswood Chav/vette.

If any of you have the misfortune to come through Bristol, I would strongly advise you not to stop in this cesspool of iniquity. However, if your curiosity gets the better of you I would recommend visiting the following places.

The Staple Hill Oak: Here the great and the good of the Staple Hill Chav glitterati can be viewed in there natural habitat. From 11am onwards the place is packed to the rafters with Chav/vettes.

Chasers (kingswood): Here the Chav/vettes can be seen conducting their bizarre mating rituals. This normally includes downing around 15 pints of Stella, making your way to the dance floor and then rubbing your genitals against anything that moves. Chasers is a prime meat market and if you also have any Chav hating issues is a great place to be on a Friday/Saturday night as fights are always guaranteed.

All in all Bristol and its surrounding areas are a wonderful place to observe the recent phenomenon of the Chav. They can be seen on virtually every street of this once great city, omnipresent springs to mind. Bristol may not be the Chav capital of the UK but it is certainly up there. It is a must for all committed observers of the Chav.