A trip to Southend

I decided to challenge my hatred of summer by actually going outside in the sunshine. Sadly I went to Southend and developed a whole new phobia – chavs.

I was unfortunately born an Essex girl and although I was raised in Hertfordshire nothing quite scars you for life as having “Harlow” emblazoned on your passport. Still, like the Queen, I feel I can transcend class and talk to anyone. The Queen however, wears gloves and keeps the freaks behind barriers.

Southend was having a chav convention. I foolishly thought that if your child is annoying the crap out of everyone you take it to one side, have a word and threaten to have it adopted. What you’re actually meant to do is scream “Tyler- Paul, Tyler-Paul, come ‘ere or you won’t get no chips” at it whilst the aforementioned Tyler (I can not bring myself to double barrel) eats other people’s meals and savagely assaults its sister.

There was also an interesting take on fashion. The girls took body confidence to a new level with muffin tops and bingo wings on display for the world to see. They all believe they are thoroughbreds with legs like shegar, when in fact they are inbreds with legs like Babar. The in thing for boys was huge white sport socks with flip flops. I had no idea how fashion forward my vicar was. Incidentally the vicar that came to my junior school to talk to us had a wooden leg (and not an up-to-date Heather Mills esq leg, a mahogany leg). He didn’t let this prevent him wearing sandals with no socks. Certainly one way to keep a child riveted.

But yeah Southend was good. I feel I need to stop being such a snobbish bitch (although that does involve me finding a new identity). I have become slightly addicted to fruit machines and carrying a load of change around in a bucket. I shall start a late New Year resolution and start being nice. Until I meet a child called Tyler-Paul who I shall batter to death with a vicar’s wooden leg.