A Canadian In New Basford on Chavs

 

This statement from my Cockney friend back home and Robin Hood were the only two things I knew about Notts before I moved over from Canada a year ago.  In fact, I knew very little about England in general. I thought Scotland was an island and Wales was a province. I thought everyone had bad teeth, drank warm beer and ate bland food. An evening of takeaway Vindaloo from a Nottingham curry house cured me of that stereotype right quick. As I sat on the toilet shitting fire from my chapped and quivering anus, crying and begging the big haysoos to take the pain away, I thought to myself, “Hmmm, maybe I have a thing or two to learn about this wacky nation”.

 

I thought I would share some of the things I’ve learned. Come along with me on this journey, won’t you?

 

The first thing I discovered is that there are two types of people in Nottingham; the normal people and the chavs. I used to work at the QMC and the first time I saw a chav, he was walking into the hospital with a bandage on his head. I thought to myself, “Awww, poor little fella, he must’ve hurt himself skateboarding or in a football match or something. That must be it - he’s wearing a tracksuit and goalkeepers gloves, after all.” After living here for a year, I’ve come to realise that he probably got his ass kicked trying to steal someone’s bike.

 

When I saw two chavettes on the bus, listening to music (and I use this term loosely) through a mobile phone so everyone could hear it, I thought, “Awww, those poor girls, they can’t afford headphones”. Now when I see them on my daily ride home, I fantasize about smashing the fucking phone over their heads and stabbing them in the eyes with the pieces.

 

Normal people and chavs also express themselves in different ways. Normal Nottinghamites use this thing called a “tut” to express displeasure. A “tut” is the sound made by pushing your tongue onto the roof of your mouth behind your front teeth and snapping it down. It is usually followed by a turned up nose and a snarly lip. If they're really mad, they will follow it up with a heavy exhale or "huff".

I have seen it happen a number of times, the most heated tut session happened once when a woman brought her bike onto a packed train going from Cambridge to Nottingham. She was literally enveloped in an angry thundercloud of tut-huffs™. I would've felt sorry for her, but she bumped me with her handle bars. Being the ignorant colonial I am, (I hadn't yet been versed in the way of the tut) blurted "hey, watch it lady!” I almost turned their collective tut rage against me. You’ll be happy to know that I (and the bike lady) both made it out alive.

 

Chavs take a slightly different approach to letting others know that something is bothering them. “What the fuck are you lookin’ at, ya cunt?” is one I have often heard. Bless.

 

Chavs and normal people also have different Christmas rituals. Normal Nottinghamites like to take advantage of their “Right to Roam” by going on walks through the country during the holidays. It’s basically traipsing through mucky farmers’ fields for three to four hours where the men read an old map, and try to estimate how many steps until the next pub while the women “ooh” and “ahh” at historical places of interest like the spot where Virginia Woolf’s horse took a dump.

 

I have never been to a chav Christmas, but I imagine it begins with the family sitting around the TV watching World’s Scariest Police Videos 3 enjoying a six-pack of Special Brew and ends with Dad beating the shit out of everybody because they gave him a red studded dog collar for his pit bull instead of a black one.

 

I have learned many things since my move across the pond a year ago; I hope you enjoy reading about my future endeavours here in LeftLion. Just be sure to take it with a wheelbarrow of salt.

 

See you next month.