When a god-awful shit-hole of a pub is eventually modernised and converted into a trendy bar with bottled beers, a good choice of wines and jazz-funk sounds, you will always find for the first three or weeks, a small group of legacy chavs huddled into the corner scowling menacingly at the new well-to-do, intelligent, clientele.
I say ruffians, why not re-locate up to the Pit Bull – there you will find draught lager, Sky Sports on the big screen and tattooed chav slappers galore.
by Luciano Lovelace January 29, 2004

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