Chavtastic

I know it's cliched to take a pop at people from Essex, but today's sojourn to Lakeside proved for me that cliches can be based on truisms.

Moronised by the shiny-shiny things, armies of fat people hypnotically lolled their way directly into my path. They moved slower than normal Londoners, weighed down, no doubt, by their chunky Argos jewellery. Mothers with at least six children pushed buggies into my heels. Enormous bleached whale-women made some semblance of queueing at Krispy Kreme for a box of twelve doughnuts.

Primark was a mecca for these people, who would occasional speak in poetic and dulcit tones, "Oi, Chardonnaiiii. Donchoo gow off on yer ahhn. Fuckin' little bleeder. Dwayne - where's my fuckin' fags?"

I left shortly before the inevitable lunch stampede started. You don't need to be anywhere near Burger King when there are that many larger people around.