It’s still raining, possibly with more intensity than it was earlier. In this land of tracksuits and twinsuits I’m happily trapped in my white modernised bubble. Quite literally, as I’m not equipped for a soaking.
I’ve toyed with the idea of visiting the amusement arcade across the road (Cooper’s) but vetoed the plan for fear of finding myself in the feral youth version of a hornet’s nest. The thought of all those damp underage grey Nike tracksuits, hair gel and excess Lynx is nasty and unlikely to mix well with my Lesbian Haircut.
The Reebok factory outlet smelt a bit Lynxy when I took a quick tour this morning but, by visiting at 11am I ensured the only other people around were two slick shop assistants and a couple of teenage mothers with their broods and multi-buggies. Two for one, cheapest item free, applies to all stock.
Feral youths never leave the house before 2pm. Fact. The shops that seem to do the most business here are greasy spoon cafes (AM) and pubs (PM, but some AM too). The charity shops provide a refuge for the women whose children are too old to be taken shopping by their parents.