A chavtastic-fantastic-Yorkshire affair

You frequently hear about their tracksuits, ASBOS, council estate flats, knife problems, and “what a bad thing they are to society”. Chavs have such a poor reputation in Britain!

Well, yes, I knew he had some “chav” qualities, when he first sat his cheeky handsome-self on the Manchester-Leeds train.

But I didn’t care.

His name was Dono and he had the YOOOHHkshaw drawl.

After we first slept together he said with concern “ My Dahhhling American princess, what time to do you want me to set the Alaaam for the Mooohhhning? Oh, how my heart melted!  It was that Yorkshire charm, yes, you know the one!

He wore his white Fred Perry shirt proudly and his mom gladly ironed his Ted Baker jeans for our dates.

Oh, no Leeds University education for him, he was a self made man– didn’t need any of that “classy stuff”. Seacroft Council estate was his conquered kingdom of his business world.

His iridescent purple Peugeot 306 purple was so bling bling, that when he drove he was death on wheels–with Galaxy FM blaring from his sub woofers.

Maybe some BBC Radio 1, perhaps, I would ask? Too posh, he would say.

My stuffy orchestral colleagues would attempt to warn me. Oh darling, we were so worried about you last night after that.. that… that… um …guy .. he drove away so recklessly… did you make it home okay?

(Dono never went to any of my classical harp gigs, not his scene, he would say).

Dono never ate vegetables except the fried variety, and he gave me gifts he ordered especially for me off the QVC.

I introduced him to Yorkshire vegan restaurants and earl grey tea. He loved both.

Dono and I lasted two weeks. He was my one-and-only-chavtastic-fantastic-experience.

Now, who says that chavs have to be so bad for England? I had a great time—!

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