Attack of the chavs

Bournemouth’s a relatively safe town, and as I don’t have a car (environmental but mostly economical reasons thanks to New Labour) I tend to walk most places as the buses in Bournemouth are pretty crap if you don’t live in Charminster, Winton or Town.

When I was a student, I was mostly walking with friends so I didn’t notice it as much, but over the last year or so I’ve been walking on my own to and from work.

Now I need to make a point here. I’m young, I’m not fat and I like to wear pretty clothes. Mostly dresses when I can get away with it. Usually I wear leggings under these dresses unless it’s exceptionally hot. I try not to dress like a slut if I can help it although sometimes I do misjudge my neckline on occasion. Not often, though.

So when I walk to work, I do NOT expect to be treated like a cheap prostitute doing my nightly rounds. This treatment includes:

Hooting (I recently discovered that even my boyfriend has been known to do this. Obviously, now he’s with me all other women are vile in comparison so he doesn’t do it anymore. Also, I told him not to.)
Shouting ‘Hello darlin’ out the car window
Wolf Whistles
Asking ‘how much?’ – this on an occasion when I was wearing jeans
And my favourite one: ‘Cheer up darling, it might not happen.’This one is particularly annoying because
a) my face just looks like that when I’m thinking about stuff and
b) maybe it just did you stupid, fat, bald, ugly twatwithatinypenis


I have to say, I have become surprisingly accustomed to such behaviour from the male species and although I find it annoying, I suppose I’ll have to start worrying when the hooting stops. However, on Saturday I had a little incident which really was the last straw.

It was partly my fault. Saturday was very hot, and I was wearing a short dress.

However, I don’t think I deserved having a little chav call after me – and I quote - ‘I’d like to bone you all night long darlin.’

I turned around. Oops, there were six of them. About fifteen. All drunk. Probably all stupid. But harmless enough – or so I hoped. I’d committed myself now (they’d stopped walking and were staring).
‘Do you little pricks have nothing better to do with yourselves than harass women walking on your own?’

Evidently not. They responded by jeering something in a language that can only be described as Chavglish (sparse use of consonants at the end and in the middle of words with more than one syllable)

‘Calm down darlin’ said the perpetrator. ‘Come ‘ome wi’ me’.

I pulled myself away. ‘You know what?’ I said.
‘I bet you’ve all got tiny cocks’.
How very mature of me. They jeered at me again and crossed the street, but despite the childish nature of my retort, I smiled the whole way home.