Freeport Rage!
Freeport, as many or none of you will know, is a chain of ‘Designer Outlet Villages’ in which you can go and purchase last year’s lines at knock down prices.

Or, if you want to look at them a different way – Chav Magnets.

Add to the mix a healthy dose of Essex (Christ – Escorts in the last post and Essex in this one – what will the people think) – and it can only be a recipe for disaster!

I’d nipped up there with Mum so I could pick up a couple of nice but cheap shirts for work, and it being a Saturday, the car park was quite full, until:

“There, dear Mater!” say I “A space yonder!” And in we go, and all is well. Except for the fat, toothless, gold plate ear-ringed, greasy haired BINT in her Vauxhall Nova (or whatever those ghastly people drive) who decides to have a go at my poor old Mum for parking her car in “Her Spot”. Mum (being Mum) is lost for words – but me, I’m a mouthy git sometimes, and I leap out of the car:

“YOUR SPOT? DOES IT HAVE YOUR NAME ON IT?”

To which I receive the devastatingly witty response:

“FUCK YOU, YOU SPECCY CNUT!”

Oh, very clever… Attack me because I wear glasses…

“Listen, you fat bitch” (I may be paraphrasing) “There’s a million parking spaces, all of which have your name on except this one. Turn your big arse around, and go and find another one, and let’s all leave this here.”

Which is followed by various and unconvincing threats of violence (from her), and me and my mother going to a respectable place to get shirts.

The moral of the story being – don’t EVER go to a Freeport. It’s bad.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Wed 18 Oct 2006, 11:06, Reply)