Neeks are found in every tatty, blood-spattered comprehensive. Unlike the Chavs, Chavettes (whom everyone can easily identify) and Rudys (
wannabe Gangstas, which is a bit unconvincing when their middle names are usually something like
Philip or
Edward), Neeks find the mindnumbing tedium of 'Wotcha lookin' at? You got beef wiv' me?' best ameliorated by actually doing a bit of work in class.
They are just as likely to have
parents living apart, but they tend to know the name, address and face of their fathers, spending regular weekends with them. Despite their mothers having
new boyfriends who are often mechanics, builders and van drivers (and therefore not thought of as being particularly intellectually over-endowed), they are frequently told that having a good education is actually their ticket out of the hellhole the council has seen fit to abandon the family into.
Female Chavs feel particularly threatened by female Neeks, particularly when, after being offered a 'smaak in yer maaaf/mooi' for having an intelligent conversation with a boy who is 'well fit' in the eyes of the Chavette, will
smile sweetly and ask if the handbag is a special edition, as
Burberry isn'
t usually spelled 'Burbree' and they are sure the Chavette would
never buy cheap rip offs from the market. Unfortunately, by the
time the Chavs have worked out that they have just been 'seriously dissed', the
Neek and the other articulate and educated members of the group are already in their next accelerated learning class, laughing at the gorilla like faces pulled by the terminally uncomprehending.
Neeks tend to gain GCSEs rather than a certificate to say they have spent a week on work experience at KwikSave, partly due to the fact that their mothers have encouraged them since babyhood with kind words and conversation, rather than slaps around the head for knocking over the
Stella cans just opened at 9am on Saturday
morning.
'Ere, Jayyyde, wot's that
neek doin', talkin' to Kieran Doyle? E's really fit an' 'is
Dad's got a building firm so e's really minted'
'Dunno, but he's laffin' now. D'ya 'spose she said summat funny?'
'Nah, she's a slaaaag. I'll mash 'er up' (stomps towards
neek - last bunkup was with a Rudy and haven't quite managed to change speech pattern back)
'Oi, neeks!'
'
Yes?'
'You can't talk ter Kieran, 'cos my
mate really likes him, an' 'is mate sez he really, really likes her, so if I sees yer talkin' ter 'im again, I'll....'
'You'll what?'
(Having been asked a question, Chavette's limited brain cells implode and she gets nail extensions ready to claw face off
Neek)
'AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!'
(
Neek deftly blocks outstretched plastic nails, twists Chavette's arm behind her back and pushes gently to place Chavette's elbow to same level as the third tier of 9ct gold plate earrings. Mum had right idea in sending
neek to kick boxing classes from age of 6.
Neek speaks very quietly:)
'So what, exactly, was it that you were intending to do?'
'AAAAGGGGGHHHH! Gerroff! Nuffink!'
'Well that's OK then. I won't see you later will I?'
(
Neek walks away with friends)
