Ned

Hang about in parks and housing estates modelling their finest track-suits, Berghaus jackets and Burberry cap aimed at the moon. A bottle of Buckfast in one hand and the other usually down the "trackies" of a female companion, The female ned dresses in the same atire but has a "tango" coloured face, white arms and an arse as wide as a taxi with a thong cutting through a sweaty layer of flab.

Older neds are called "Mad Tramps" or "Smelly Bastards" wear track-suits, white trainers, smoke roll-ups made with Drum tobacco and think its right the state foot the bill for their inability to earn wages because they are too stupid to even count their own fingers, barely able to make the toilet, yet could cover 100m faster than Usain Bolt to catch an ice cream van for "a boatle o ginger", Drum rolling tobacco and/or 20 Mayfair, a powercard and a 20lb bag of boiled sugar for their 8 month old "wean" for his dinner.

Smoke anything if it was brown, even shite if someone called it hash. And if they are not buying it, they are selling it instead.

Neds houses all appear to be decorated and furnished by the same person also (??) and are filled with, either stolen things or cheap tat, bought with ten-thousand billion percent hire purchase from Shitehouse and a stereo with only cd's of smurf-sounding rave music blasting, or Pink Floyd for the more cultured ned. Ugly, fat and pishy smelling at worst and avoidable at best.

Jeeves: I didn't get into that establishment. By jove one is miffed!

Wooster: Gadzooks! Why not, Jeeves my good man?

Jeeves: Because there was a roudy-rabble of rather inhebriated neds talking to me in the queue, one can only presume the door fellow assumed me as their companion.

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