Chav has been the buzzword of 2005. It has saturated the media and permeated the collective consciousness of the nation. But what is a chav? To my mind chav defines an attitude and a lifestyle, rather than a specific class or sector of people. Of course there are certain things that define a chav so you can recognise them on sight. Sports wear, clean white trainers and flashy jewellery (or bling) comprises the uniform. You have probably seen them in their swaggering sports-clad packs, bling flashing in the sunshine, waving their arms around as they speak, a bit like air traffic controllers on drugs. Their natural environment is the town centre, especially if USC is having a sale (overheard at said sale: “Oi! Chanel’s looking for you!”). However, you can find them almost anywhere. For example, I have spotted quite a few outside the maternity building of the Royal Infirmary. They came roaring up in their pimped out Ford Escort, music blaring and out he hopped, fag in one hand, flowers in the other, resplendent in Fred Perry. His mate shouted: “Who’s the Daddy!”. He answered: “I dunno, we ain’t had the DNA test yet!” I have to say that I quite admire the chavs and I have a feeling that I’m not alone in this either, even though I may be only one to admit it. They live hard and die young, not giving a damn about the rules and regulations that govern society. They are the rebels without a cause, smoking, drinking, swearing, shouting. And I bet the utter abandon they live their lives with is sometimes the envy of others. | 
