Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Chavs. I know I harp on about them from time to time, but they really are the worst thing to happen to the UK for a couple of generations. Very recently I was on the train from London Bridge to Plumstead to see my Dad in the nursing home, as I do every day. Two virulent Chavster girls got on at the same time as me; they had a mobile telephone playing really loud dance music over the main speaker. They put their pustulent fake designer trainer clad feet on the seats and proceeded to roll up huge joints. I politely asked them to turn the phone down, as the rest of the carriage did not want to listen to their vile distorted noise. I got a barrage of poorly argued and illiterate verbal abuse. The slightly less unintelligent one finally said "what's it got to do wiv you anyway?" To which I replied "Firstly, I am getting a headache trying to think down to your level, and secondly, you are annoying the whole of this carriage - only they are too scared of getting stabbed to say anything, and thirdly - if you don't shut the noise from that phone off right now, it will be going out of the window".
They both immediately got even more gobby - "You can't do that!" "Really." I said. "TRY ME!" I fixed them with my steely Incandescent With Rage (TM) stare. All of a sudden they turned the "music" from the phone off and sat, quietly grumbling until I got off at Plumstead. Scum.
And I would have so enjoyed throwing the mobile telephone out of the train window. Chavs and mobile telephones - two of my greatest hates in one package.