Chav Wars!

Our quiet little street is currently playing host to some territorial wrangling between my dearest Daddy and next door's chavalicious boyfriend.

He keeps parking his Chav-mobile outside our drive way when he comes to visit his 'Princess', blocking us in and giving us a rather unpleasant view out the front window. The car itself is intriguing as it has 'Unleaded' written over the fuel cap. Dad is of the impression that it might be a hire car. I think the driver, in his uniform of 3 stripe trackie pants (tucked into socks, so 1999) and striped fred Perry knock off T shirts (collar turned up like a prick), is just too stupid to remember what kind of petrol his car takes.

So at the moment, our two cars, my sis's boyfriend's car and the Chav-mobile are locked in a game of Musical Cars. Much planning goes into who is parking their car where and when. I think my Dad missed a calling in the army, planning strategic tank parking.

Hopefully next door will chuck the chav before too long. Either that or I will have to be Ninja Sessy and use the old hilarious potato-up-the-exhaust-pipe jape, am sure the rest of the street will be as amused.

Goddamn chavs!