And the chav sat on my window sill

I like having a window that looks straight onto the pavement.  I like to have the world busying along just behind me blinds.  It reminds me of a Shirley Hughes story wherein Alfie/Annie Rose/somebody lived in a basement flat and used to watch the legs walking past (Mum, which one was it?). 

What I don't like is chavs¹ sitting on my window sill.  There's a faintly menacing whiff to a chav sitting on your window sill.  I found it a little unsettling when, sitting on the sofa the other night, the sudden thud against the window revealed itself to have been caused by a bottom (at the top of some legs encased in Reebok² trackies) descending without ceremony onto the sill.  As I peered through afore-mentioned blinds at said bottom, I found myself saying incredulously (and dangerously loudly, considering the non-double nature of our glazing):

"There's a fucking chav sitting on the window sill!"

Chav or no chav, I think most of us would feel marginally put out by someone presuming to sit on our window sill (it would be worse, I accept, if I had window boxes) (worse for them too, I'd imagine).  Quite what the accepted course of action is in a chav--window sill interaction type situation, I'm not sure.  I went into my well-planned emergency drill, of course -- cowering behind the blind whispering chav-related obscenities until they went away.  Fully effective and minimal personal injury. 

Precisely the routine, I understand, to which Chris Martin refers when he famously whines "It was all ... yellow...".

¹ Mummm, what's a chav?
² or similar (not that hot on me sports branding) -- regulation Chav wear, anyway