A trainee Kev
. Usually 12-16 years old, whose only ambition in life is to have a Ford XR2i. Usually distinguishable for their love of Helly Hansen jackets, Burberry and sportswear, especially Addidas tracksuit trousers. They often congregate outside shops with their 50cc scooters which they insist on riding about six inches off your rear bumper. They then progress to a 1.1 Fiesta Mk2 with a dent in every panel, a poorly fitted bodykit with the 'primer' finish, odd wheels and a stereo worth more than the car. Which isn't hard. At this point they are now a fully fledged Kev
, with the heirachy of whoever has the highest insurance cost is most senior.
Having evolved out of the undercut and happy hardcore of the mid to late 90s they now favour nu-metal of the 'sports metal' variety e.g. Limp Bizkit, Eminem etc and whatever generic trance is popular that week. Hair is usually shaved of bleached, skin is grey from their 40-a-day habit to 'look 'ard loike' and they often have some terrible piercings.
The female trevs are of two sorts. Younger ones, 13-15 who wear all their finest Fila, Kappa, Von Dutch gear, as much cheap jewellery as possible and more makeup than your average clown. Their ambitions are to be a pop star/model, hairdresser or get preggers and get a house out of the government.
The second sort are older and have achived the latter of their ambitions, then got fat. And ugly.
A group of 6 of us 20-30 year olds are leaving the beach. As we walk past a female trev we put some rubbish in a bin.
Trev "are focking starting something, focking come 'ere and say that, i'll focking have you"
Us "hahahahaha, don't bother"
Trev "i'll get my focking bruvva daahn, ee'll 'ave the lot of you ee's been in prison"
Us "HAHA! isn't it past your bedtime?"