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Right, this is the story of my visit to the wonders of Harlow town centre earlier. The 75 minutes in question is the total time I was out of the house, and as it's about a 20-minute walk in either direction and I'm too much of a tight-fisted git to pay for buses, those of you with basic maths skills will notice that I spent only 35 minutes in the town centre itself.
Now, to explain this story properly, it's necessary for a little background information. I'm about 6'2 and not that lightly built. Not that I'm calling myself fat you understand, it's just that I'm not going to be setting any sprint world records any time soon. As well as this, I have hair down to my shoulders, and have a tendency to scowl at people who dare to try and talk to me.
I think that's all you need to know, so I'll begin.
Today, I decided that as I'm on holiday, I should go shopping for some things I needed, mainly some new trousers, and being the lazy sod that I am decided to leave it until about 3:45 before I eventually got up and left. I was/am wearing some Jeans that fit, but are starting to come apart a little on a seam on the left leg, a plain black jumper with a small Reebok logo on it, and some worn trainers. This is valuable knowledge by the way, or at least it's needed for later.
Now, the easiest way to town on foot goes down a lot of cycle paths, including some that go nowhere near any roads and connect only other cycle paths. So while walking one of these, I was mildly (but not very) surprised to see three people, on one scooter. All of them around 16-18, all of them in track suit trousers, jumpers with huge logos emblazoned across the front and two of them were in proper shoes for some reason (probably Kickers knowing the type). The one who wasn't, was one of the fabled but elusive breed and was wearing a cap (at a slight angle of course), and Reebok classics with - some of you must know what's coming - Football socks that his trousers were tucked into! Their scooter was making a noise like a lawnmower about to explode, chugging out blue smoke and the suspension looked like it was suffering.
These townies - Yes, that's stereotyping, but they really did fit that stereotype like it was built for them - went past as fast as their (probably stolen now I think about it, the front looked broken) scooter could take them, so I looked at them, amused by the sheer towniness displayed in one small place and then ignored them. Then, about 30 seconds later they came back in the opposite direction and proceeded to call me a greebo **** and tell me to get my hair cut. Standard stuff, nothing original there. They of course didn't stop, and never came within three feet of me, because they only outnumbered me 3 to 1 and didn't appear to be carrying any weaponry. These are not townie-fighting odds.
So, after they left, I carried on my way to town and made it all the way there without anyone annoying me. On arrival I was strolling around until I decided where to go first, when I was accosted by one of the groups I like to think of as Hoodies. You should know the type; some of you undoubtedly are one. They're the ones who are about 14-16 and won't leave the house unless they're wearing a hoodie with either a well-known punk or metal band's name written across it in huge letters, accompanied by a picture designed to offend old people.
These ones were clearly furthering themselves by wearing their Offspring and Metallica hoodies while trying to imitate that crap Avril Lavinge video without actually doing anything that could get them in real trouble. Cue lots of running about shouting at each other, attempting to ride a skateboard down an escalator and swearing at people with young children. They then decided that it would be amazingly funny to insult me because there were about 8-9 of them and the tallest one nearly came up to my nose. So, after deciding that I was a townie and should listen to some real music one of them then proceeded to say possibly the funniest thing I've heard all day.
A kid, about 15, wearing a hoodie with Marilyn Manson's Holywood album cover badly printed on the front, a pair of jeans that you could have fit three of his friends into as well and some trainers that were about three sizes to big for him, proceeded to tell me I should buy some decent clothes. Admittedly, everything I'm wearing is about 2 years old (but comfortable) and I was there for the purpose of buying new clothes. But still, there’s only so much hypocrisy a man can take. So, after glaring at this child until he realised that he was never going to get a verbal answer, he got out of the way and I was able to actually go shopping.
To be honest, I don’t know why I bothered in the first place. Harlow has a cack selection of menswear shops and after discovering that 90% of non-formal trousers were either normal jeans in a variety of colours or racks of jeans with exactly the same pattern faded into each and every pair, I was losing hope. Every shop sold almost exactly the same stuff but with a different label sewn in. I did find a pair of trousers I liked, but they didn't have my size on the rack and when I asked if they had any in stock that would fit me, a shop assistant practically shouted “No, if they ain't on the rack then we ain't gonna have none in that size are we!”
Ignoring this flagrant double negative, I left without arguing with shop assistant and decided that chances of me buying anything from there again had just dropped by a few dozen percent. Then I went into Virgin, because there was a huge banner saying “75% off!” in the window. Once you were two feet away, you could actually noticed the “up to” in tiny writing at the top of the poster. A perfunctory glance through their selection told me that yes this really was a crap-clearout sale with a few token things thrown in so that they could advertise the sale with them.
So I left, and went home; the entire shopping process taking about 35 minutes.
Even on the way home, there were still annoyances to come. On the cycle tracks, I encountered a group of kids of mixed sex, about 11-12 in their puffer jackets and brand new but fake trainers, swearing at each other like ex-servicemen after 12 pints. Clearly these were the children of Scummy-mummies. The parents who shop in Lidl and consider another child as a valid way of increasing their income via benefit payment.
They proceeded to shout what sounded like “Ait! Ait! Ait!” very quickly at me, and dance around like they were on crack. Possibly they were on crack, it wouldn't surprise me to be honest. Now, at the best of times, I consider young children to have as much right to life as the mould growing behind the fridge. These ones were doing themselves no favours. I stopped for a second to contemplate the 6 methods that came to mind of killing the apparent “leader” of this crowd.
As none of these methods would allow me to kill him without leaving enough evidence to track me down - and his friends had seen my face - I quickly had to discard this idea and contemplate that there was nothing I could do to him. As he didn't come up to my chin and “children should never be hit, they should only be praised for what they do right, never punished for what they do wrong”, it was unlikely that anyone who “knows what's right for them” would agree with me when I said I was justified in breaking his arm either. So, I walked straight through him and was pestered by him and his friends as I carried on down the road.
After about 10 seconds of me ignoring them, their attention spans gave out and they got bored and left me alone. I was nearly home, I could almost feel the joy of getting to lock the world out and ignore them all.
As I was walking down a road about 300 yards from my house, a car came past making a slight scratching noise as it went. Suddenly there was a thump and a much larger scraping noise and a large vague shape appeared underneath the car. As it pulled to the side of the road, the spare tyre fell out the bottom. Now, being the occasionally nice person I can be when I'm in the mood, and deciding that as everyone else in the world appeared to be spending their time being ****s, as I walked up beside the car I asked the woman driving it if she needed a hand.
She looked at me as though I was simultaneously a world famous serial rapist and mass murderer (which I'm not, just in case you were wondering) and the most contemptible thing in the universe, and told me to “**** off and mind my own business”, which I thought was lovely.
And then I got home. Full of thoughts of the best way to wipe out humanity so that whatever evolves next doesn't have to contest with radioactive/chemical/biological fallout.
Ok, that went on far too long, and it contains large amounts of rambling. But what I wanted to say is that today I've been called a greebo, a townie, mocked by small children that if I retaliated to would probably get me arrested, nearly shouted at by a shop assistant for daring to ask a question and insulted by a woman because I asked her if she needed any assistance.
And people still ask me why I'm antisocial.
Now, to explain this story properly, it's necessary for a little background information. I'm about 6'2 and not that lightly built. Not that I'm calling myself fat you understand, it's just that I'm not going to be setting any sprint world records any time soon. As well as this, I have hair down to my shoulders, and have a tendency to scowl at people who dare to try and talk to me.
I think that's all you need to know, so I'll begin.
Today, I decided that as I'm on holiday, I should go shopping for some things I needed, mainly some new trousers, and being the lazy sod that I am decided to leave it until about 3:45 before I eventually got up and left. I was/am wearing some Jeans that fit, but are starting to come apart a little on a seam on the left leg, a plain black jumper with a small Reebok logo on it, and some worn trainers. This is valuable knowledge by the way, or at least it's needed for later.
Now, the easiest way to town on foot goes down a lot of cycle paths, including some that go nowhere near any roads and connect only other cycle paths. So while walking one of these, I was mildly (but not very) surprised to see three people, on one scooter. All of them around 16-18, all of them in track suit trousers, jumpers with huge logos emblazoned across the front and two of them were in proper shoes for some reason (probably Kickers knowing the type). The one who wasn't, was one of the fabled but elusive breed and was wearing a cap (at a slight angle of course), and Reebok classics with - some of you must know what's coming - Football socks that his trousers were tucked into! Their scooter was making a noise like a lawnmower about to explode, chugging out blue smoke and the suspension looked like it was suffering.
These townies - Yes, that's stereotyping, but they really did fit that stereotype like it was built for them - went past as fast as their (probably stolen now I think about it, the front looked broken) scooter could take them, so I looked at them, amused by the sheer towniness displayed in one small place and then ignored them. Then, about 30 seconds later they came back in the opposite direction and proceeded to call me a greebo **** and tell me to get my hair cut. Standard stuff, nothing original there. They of course didn't stop, and never came within three feet of me, because they only outnumbered me 3 to 1 and didn't appear to be carrying any weaponry. These are not townie-fighting odds.
So, after they left, I carried on my way to town and made it all the way there without anyone annoying me. On arrival I was strolling around until I decided where to go first, when I was accosted by one of the groups I like to think of as Hoodies. You should know the type; some of you undoubtedly are one. They're the ones who are about 14-16 and won't leave the house unless they're wearing a hoodie with either a well-known punk or metal band's name written across it in huge letters, accompanied by a picture designed to offend old people.
These ones were clearly furthering themselves by wearing their Offspring and Metallica hoodies while trying to imitate that crap Avril Lavinge video without actually doing anything that could get them in real trouble. Cue lots of running about shouting at each other, attempting to ride a skateboard down an escalator and swearing at people with young children. They then decided that it would be amazingly funny to insult me because there were about 8-9 of them and the tallest one nearly came up to my nose. So, after deciding that I was a townie and should listen to some real music one of them then proceeded to say possibly the funniest thing I've heard all day.
A kid, about 15, wearing a hoodie with Marilyn Manson's Holywood album cover badly printed on the front, a pair of jeans that you could have fit three of his friends into as well and some trainers that were about three sizes to big for him, proceeded to tell me I should buy some decent clothes. Admittedly, everything I'm wearing is about 2 years old (but comfortable) and I was there for the purpose of buying new clothes. But still, there’s only so much hypocrisy a man can take. So, after glaring at this child until he realised that he was never going to get a verbal answer, he got out of the way and I was able to actually go shopping.
To be honest, I don’t know why I bothered in the first place. Harlow has a cack selection of menswear shops and after discovering that 90% of non-formal trousers were either normal jeans in a variety of colours or racks of jeans with exactly the same pattern faded into each and every pair, I was losing hope. Every shop sold almost exactly the same stuff but with a different label sewn in. I did find a pair of trousers I liked, but they didn't have my size on the rack and when I asked if they had any in stock that would fit me, a shop assistant practically shouted “No, if they ain't on the rack then we ain't gonna have none in that size are we!”
Ignoring this flagrant double negative, I left without arguing with shop assistant and decided that chances of me buying anything from there again had just dropped by a few dozen percent. Then I went into Virgin, because there was a huge banner saying “75% off!” in the window. Once you were two feet away, you could actually noticed the “up to” in tiny writing at the top of the poster. A perfunctory glance through their selection told me that yes this really was a crap-clearout sale with a few token things thrown in so that they could advertise the sale with them.
So I left, and went home; the entire shopping process taking about 35 minutes.
Even on the way home, there were still annoyances to come. On the cycle tracks, I encountered a group of kids of mixed sex, about 11-12 in their puffer jackets and brand new but fake trainers, swearing at each other like ex-servicemen after 12 pints. Clearly these were the children of Scummy-mummies. The parents who shop in Lidl and consider another child as a valid way of increasing their income via benefit payment.
They proceeded to shout what sounded like “Ait! Ait! Ait!” very quickly at me, and dance around like they were on crack. Possibly they were on crack, it wouldn't surprise me to be honest. Now, at the best of times, I consider young children to have as much right to life as the mould growing behind the fridge. These ones were doing themselves no favours. I stopped for a second to contemplate the 6 methods that came to mind of killing the apparent “leader” of this crowd.
As none of these methods would allow me to kill him without leaving enough evidence to track me down - and his friends had seen my face - I quickly had to discard this idea and contemplate that there was nothing I could do to him. As he didn't come up to my chin and “children should never be hit, they should only be praised for what they do right, never punished for what they do wrong”, it was unlikely that anyone who “knows what's right for them” would agree with me when I said I was justified in breaking his arm either. So, I walked straight through him and was pestered by him and his friends as I carried on down the road.
After about 10 seconds of me ignoring them, their attention spans gave out and they got bored and left me alone. I was nearly home, I could almost feel the joy of getting to lock the world out and ignore them all.
As I was walking down a road about 300 yards from my house, a car came past making a slight scratching noise as it went. Suddenly there was a thump and a much larger scraping noise and a large vague shape appeared underneath the car. As it pulled to the side of the road, the spare tyre fell out the bottom. Now, being the occasionally nice person I can be when I'm in the mood, and deciding that as everyone else in the world appeared to be spending their time being ****s, as I walked up beside the car I asked the woman driving it if she needed a hand.
She looked at me as though I was simultaneously a world famous serial rapist and mass murderer (which I'm not, just in case you were wondering) and the most contemptible thing in the universe, and told me to “**** off and mind my own business”, which I thought was lovely.
And then I got home. Full of thoughts of the best way to wipe out humanity so that whatever evolves next doesn't have to contest with radioactive/chemical/biological fallout.
Ok, that went on far too long, and it contains large amounts of rambling. But what I wanted to say is that today I've been called a greebo, a townie, mocked by small children that if I retaliated to would probably get me arrested, nearly shouted at by a shop assistant for daring to ask a question and insulted by a woman because I asked her if she needed any assistance.
And people still ask me why I'm antisocial.
Page:
BEARDS. wrote:
> Meths doesn't taste nice.
>
> Not that I know or anything...
That's the point. If you spat coca-cola at them, it wouldn't be so unpleasant would it?
> Meths doesn't taste nice.
>
> Not that I know or anything...
That's the point. If you spat coca-cola at them, it wouldn't be so unpleasant would it?
Maybe you should stop putting your chickens in the 'wine cellar'.
Maybe your chicken just tastes like meths.
Tastes like chicken...
Meths doesn't taste nice.
Not that I know or anything...
Not that I know or anything...
I used to be a loon.
Or was it a tamborine?
I forget. Good times anyhow.
Or was it a tamborine?
I forget. Good times anyhow.
BEARDS. wrote:
> Mr Snuggly wrote:
> There's a moral here: Don't go anywhere near Harlow, it's a cesspit.
> A mate of mine has a samurai sword you could borrow if you want.
>
> Mmm, Swords...
>
> Heh, knowing my luck, there's probably some poncy law against slicing
> peoples face's in two for "looking at me in a way which made me
> sad".
Before you go out next time, take a swig of meths, and hold it in your mouth. Next time you get hassle from chavvies, spit said meths into their faces. Not only will it discourage them from further rudage, you'll quickly gain a reputation as a loon, and they'll not bother you any more. Visibly carry some custard and a sponge as well. That'll fox 'em.
> Mr Snuggly wrote:
> There's a moral here: Don't go anywhere near Harlow, it's a cesspit.
> A mate of mine has a samurai sword you could borrow if you want.
>
> Mmm, Swords...
>
> Heh, knowing my luck, there's probably some poncy law against slicing
> peoples face's in two for "looking at me in a way which made me
> sad".
Before you go out next time, take a swig of meths, and hold it in your mouth. Next time you get hassle from chavvies, spit said meths into their faces. Not only will it discourage them from further rudage, you'll quickly gain a reputation as a loon, and they'll not bother you any more. Visibly carry some custard and a sponge as well. That'll fox 'em.
We can conclude one sure thing from this topic:
BEARDS = tight git
And he has a job!
:0D
BEARDS = tight git
And he has a job!
:0D
Mr Snuggly wrote:
> There's a moral here: Don't go anywhere near Harlow, it's a cesspit.
I thought it was: Don't go for dinner at BEARDS house, as he has mold growing behind the fridge.
But I could be wrong.
> There's a moral here: Don't go anywhere near Harlow, it's a cesspit.
I thought it was: Don't go for dinner at BEARDS house, as he has mold growing behind the fridge.
But I could be wrong.
Yeah, "'arlow" sucks massive, hairy balls. 'Tis a shame as Epping and Sawbridgeworth are really nice towns. Even Stortford is classed as nice compared to Harlow. And as for the clothes shops - just get a bus to Chelmsford and have a ganders there. Chelmsford folk are really small though...
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