It doesn’t take much to get the locals excited does it? The sun came out for a few days over the weekend and these are some of the things I noticed.
Convertible Creeps – God, how much they must pray for a day over 50 degrees, these whoppers. How much use do they get from their top dollar soft top pussy magnets in rainy soaked Blighty? Now watch them go, cruising dead slow about town blasting shite R&B at a trillion decibels in the mistaken belief that this makes them ‘playaz.’
Flippy Flappers – I hate anything in between my toes; sand, suncream, dogshit. Why put a flimsy bit of plazzy between your big toe and the one that’s next to your big toe as you try to look dead hard in your shit shades, RUN DMC or Adidas Reissue tees and over long cargoes shorts? I know you think you look gangsta but this is Garston not Gran Canaria lad.
Maxi Priestesses – will the maxi dress ever go out of style? Don’t get me wrong, worn the right way, the molls look great but isn’t it all getting a bit played out now – along with the curlers crew, the maxi and hair extension top knot posse have become a WAGmag self-parody.
All Day Long Arseholes – doesn’t matter if it’s 5am in the morning, 1 o’clock in the afternoon or 7 o’clock at night, there’s some utter beaut with his top off yelling abuse at nothing in particular, a plazzy bag full of shite ale in his grubby mitt. Watch them stagger as they spit empty threats to cars, lamp posts and traffic wardens because it’s hot and that’s what you do when it’s hot isn’t it?
Cafe Society Sycophants – every city has em and Liverpool’s is the Quarter Cafe pavement stare out firm who like nothing better than sitting about all afternoon tring to look famous as they clock anyone and everyone walking past just in case they really are famous and they can boast to their fame obsessed pals, ‘guess who was sat four tables away from me today? Sammy fucking Lee lar!’
Boey Blurts – they’ve had the Botox, the ‘aesthetic’ enhancements, the teeth bleaching, the steds, the tan, the works and this is the day they get to show it all off. Up and down Bold Street they’ll parade, pretending they’re not clocking everyone clocking them and either sniggering or gawping. These are always the ones who claim to have been ugly and bullied at school but now feel like totally in charge of their pitiful destinies.
BMX Bandits – nothing like a bit of heat to get the ninjas out of their Loweys and into the water, as they weave in and out of traffic on peddlers or quads, skinny white legs and massive 110s going like the clappers as they head for the Albert Dock or the Leeds-Liverpool canal to drown in tragic accidents involving underwater currents and hidden car parts.
Self-Styled Eccentrics – look at the kip of him in his retro safari suit and pith helmet, he’s such a card, look at her in her 50s rockabilly dress and full arm tatts, look at them in their matching Amish hats, tweed tunics and deconstructed designer clogs pulling wheelies on penny farthings. They try so very hard to be unique and not part of the herd that they just end up looking like desperate attention seekers.
Ageing Glam Couples – this pair look like they’ve been proper swingers in their time, not thr Doncaster doggers mob from the Tombola bingo adverts but the type who palled about with David Niven in Ibiza in the 50s and 60s and could tell you a tale or two about Lauren Bacall. Maybe they’re just a pair of fruity ballroom dancers from Meols but they look as if they’ve played snap with Lord Lucan in his secret African lair in Netherley and starred in home made bondage flicks.