to call my Girlfriend)
I met Daphne on a warm September evening - do you remember September 2009? Weather wise it was one of the nicest Septembers I can remember and in terms of my personal life the best and most significant.
I'd just moved to London and was loving it. Although I was also finding being in a big city full of so many things to see and do and no friends to enjoy it with boring and massively frustrating.
Finally the night I had been waiting for, for over a year arrives. The opening lecture of my MA Creative Writing (Plays & Screenplays) Obviously I arrived late - as I did for many of my lectures - and a little flustered. I found an empty seat, took too long to sit down and get settled and scanned the room. Male, male, too old, male, not my type, Jackpot! A beautiful tanned face with big dark eyes and long dark hair.
Except that's not strictly how we met because we didn't speak for the first 3 weeks! - but eventually classroom flirting turned into secretly dating, which became openly dating and two and a half years later we're still together and I'm happier than ever.
Now, I have to inform you, Daphne is slightly mad (hopefully she won't mind me saying that). She says the craziest things all the time. Quote of the day: "When you flush the toilet you're supposed to come out. I've been hiding for ages." (She had been hiding in the wardrobe waiting for me to come out) And so over the last couple of years, Daphne has had me in stitches multiple, multiple times by telling me hilarious (often quite ridiculous) stories about herself and her life. None of which, I don't think, have tickled me more than this one. Hopefully it will tickle you too.
So here's Daphne's story accompanied by a (much funnier than mine) intro - I'm supposed to write the intro! - but then she's my girlfriend, so it's practically her duty to ignore everything I say. Right?!
Daphne Economou and the Deadly Chav.
Most people who don’t know me, try to
place my accent. American? Irish? Do I hear… Liverpool? No, no you
don’t, get your ears cleaned and never talk to me again. My accent
is a hybrid actually, I had an Australian teacher, a love for
American TV, British music idols, many English friends, one
pseudo-Welsh boyfriend and a Greek family and upbringing. Before
we start with my story, let me clarify this, I now understand the
British culture, I have adapted. I can’t stop myself from saying
please and thank you like my life depends on it (and while
it’s all the rage here, in Greece waiters think I have OCD), I put
milk in my tea and I almost accept that the one and only thing y’all
eat EVERYTIME there’s any sort of an occasion is a roast dinner.
Rewind six years, however, and none of
this made sense to me. My accent was as Greek as it gets, my skin had
a hint of the Mediterranean (as in tanned not hairy, thank you very
much) and my knowledge of all things British could be entirely
summarized in this sentence: ‘you like fish and chips and to get
drrrrrrrrrunk, no?’. Adding insult to injury, I lived in the tiny
posh slash chavtastic slash brilliant town (or maybe city because of
some cathedral rule?) of Winchester in a house of four and a half
residents, three and a half of which had not socialized with many
foreign people before. One housemate actually, although good natured,
never quite grasped that I was human. She referred to me as ‘The
Greek’, described me to others as ‘a Greek’ and pretty much
pictured me as a cat with a Greek flag print on my fur. When, in the
summer, she came to Greece (to make sure it wasn’t an imaginary
country, perhaps) she literally ate exclusively chips and bread for
two whole weeks. She then died of constipation. No, sorry, she
didn’t, that was a terrible joke.
Anyway, I’m
rumbling and my editor will get cross. The story I was asked to tell
is about Chavs. As I mentioned, Winchester can be quite chavy,
especially the parts of it students can afford to chill at. And what
to you looks like a chav, to the untrained Greek eye is just a guy
who must go to the gym a lot and is in dire need of a dental hygiene
lecture and a shampoo bottle. So, when my half a housemate, Will,
came in our house terrified one evening because ‘chavs’ had
bullied him, I was baffled to say the least. Will looked at me like
the ignorant token foreigner I was. "Do you not know about Chavs?" "No" I said, semi-ashamed. At this point, Hayley butted into our
conversation "they’re the people with the traksuits and the big
earrings." Oh yeah, I had seen them. "They are horrible" Will
and Hayley chanted in unison (not really, but it would have been
entertaining). They looked at me in the eyes and laid the horrific
facts out. "They will shout things at you. Never look at
them. Especially not if they talk to you." And never EVER
talk back to them. ESPECIALLY with your accent. They
steal and spit. They killed a man outside Tesco the other day
because he told them to be quiet." It suddenly all made sense…
they don’t go to the gym a lot, they wear tracksuits to run faster
and the rotten teeth are from all the spitting and OH MY GOD their
hair is dirty because they don’t have time to wash it in between
murders!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Fast forward two chav induced nightmare
filled days, Hayley offers to give me a lift to the One Stop. The
little drive goes smoothly. We listen to two verses of a song and the
beginning of a bad Fearne Cotton joke and we’re there. The glorious One Stop. I get out of the car, unaware of what is to come. Take two
steps. Then I see them. Trainers, tracksuits, bad teeth, bulldog,
shit hair. My internal monologue goes into overdrive. "don’t look
at them, don’t look at them, not with your accent, not with your
accent, wait… they can’t SEE my accent, shhhh just don’t look,
just do…" "MISS?! MISS?!" I hear a voice through two brown
broken teeth. "shit, shit, shit, SHIT, I’m going to be the man at Tesco." Despite trying not to, I look up. They are actually
talking to me. I can see the headlines ‘Chavs Murder Foreign Girl After She Rolled Her ‘r’s At Them’. They look as threatening as
I expected. Short, angry. I turn around and look at Hayley with
terror! Hayley is unfazed, she probably hasn’t noticed THE CHAVS,
I think. I run towards the car keeping my composure. They talk to me
again "Miss, Miss will you..." That’s it, their voices trigger
my street wise defense mechanism, unable to control it, a scream
escapes my vocal chords ‘CRIMINALS!! THE CRIMINALS
SPOKE TO MEEEEEEEEEEEEEE’. I get in the car shaking. Hayley looks
at me blankly. I expect her to share my panic and drive away at full
speed. Instead, she takes a moment to realise what has just happened
and wets herself "you absolute moron!! They are eight year old kids
walking their dog."
Written by Daphne Economou
(she's a brilliant writer isn't she?!)
Be sure to check out her hilariously amazing fashion blog
http://styliseddialogue.blogspot.co.uk/
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