Heads up, it's a Chav-alanche!

This week our newest opinion columnist, Charlotte Kymberley, is in Morocco with her boyfriend. The fabulous Stephanie Dawson steps in to take the helm and bemoan the existence of the tracksuited Chav.

I don't ask for much. On the whole I feel pretty damn grateful for the things I have in life. A nice home, a bearable family, good friends and a hot boyfriend. But, like any other sixteen year old girl wading her way though adolescence, there are a few things in life that really annoy me.

One thing that annoys me in particular, today at least, is the wild and untamed breed of human that is the Chav. I'll tell you why the Chav annoys me so much just as soon as I explain the foul characteristics of his breed for those that don't know.

Chavs are the ever-growing new breed of the talking tracksuit. The guys - and girls - covered with cheap rip-offs of expensive labels, hanging around on street corners, trying to intimidate people, talking loud about nothing at all, determined not to have a future unless it involves having kids or rapping, which is great except the majority of them can't rap.

Many people have difficulty distinguishing a chav's gender, so...

Male Chavs

Male chavs are usually the ones wearing their daddy's socks tucked into fake Lacoste trainers - picked up from the bargain basket at Aldi by their mum - and a grubby baseball cap. Perhaps stained from perspiration and masking an acne-painted forehead.

They can be seen in groups of five or eight outside McDonald's or the local chippy. A fag in one hand, a can of shandy in the other... approach with care.

Female Chavs

Next, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you female chavs, also known as chavettes, lighting up their cigarettes on a dark street corner in the middle of a shadowed estate.

These booty-shaking, illiterate, loud-mouthed man-beasts tend to roam the streets looking for any excuse to use their foul high-pitched voices. With their pencilled eyebrows, limited talent and poor range of vocabulary these girls tend to revolve their lives around boys and alcohol.

After boasting about their latest sexual experience with the stranger in the park (the one with the shaved eyebrow and beer belly) they compare their latest fake-Dior bling as it hangs limply around their fake-tan-orange love-bitten necks.

They all envy the girl with the hefty diamond on her finger, unaware of its £4.99 price tag from Argos local.

Yes Stephanie, but how do Chavs annoy you?

Okay, okay - I'm coming to that!

The thing is, I have a night in with my boyfriend every friday night. At around 10pm we'll stroll out to the bus stop, then embrace and say our goodbyes.

This is a happily recurring process that gets unfortunately gets interrupted and spoilt every Friday by, you guessed it, chavs.

Is it too much to ask to walk to the bus stop in blissful peace, enjoying the last moments of each other's company?

Is it jealousy that causes the chav gang to emerge from the shadows, hurling abuse and strange constipated-cow noises that are probably meant to insult us?

Are they jealous because they'll know they'll never achieve the standard 5 GCSE grades C or above that will give them a hope of a decent job or further education, and will instead be lumbered with a saturday job at the local fruit and veg shop?

Or - and I'm stretching it here - but are the chavs perhaps jealous of seeing two people showering each other with love, care and genuine affection? Something their shadowed stranger on the park bench last night didn't seem so practised at as they engaged in clumsy thrusting and heavy-breathing with lager-fumed breath?

To be honest, I don't know why it is. I don't know if these chavs are jealous or not. But I do know that normal people keeping their heads down and walking at quite a fast calorie-burning pace, clearly eager to escape any trouble or confrontation, seem to get the common chav quite wound up.

Every friday, we run the gauntlet of chavs crossing our path as my boyfriend and I say goodbye.

As soon as we have passed them, the comments start. And I know we're not the only ones to get this treatment. As the chavs collect in drunken heaps, with slurred speech and manic expressions, they'll find any excuse to torment and piss off any innocent stranger walking by.

Cruel and uncalled for? Yes.

Am I bothered though?

Well... yeah, actually.

You have to stay safe from these people. Be aware of your surroundings, and stay alert at all times for any signs of an incoming Chavalanche.

It pays to be on your guard. You never know, one little chav might get a little over-excited at the prospect of a stranger walking by, draw out his BB gun (a cheap thrill) and fantasize he's the next Eminem.

Also look out for any strange odours that might indicate a chav gang's hiding place. For instance a cloud of cigarette smoke, tinged with eau de Lambrini.

Well, I'm glad I've got that out of my system.

Hopefully chavs will be extinct in the next few years and we can toss them into the Reject's Realm of icons such as the Spice Girls, Gareth Gates and yo-yo's.

Cross your fingers guys.

Innit.

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