The rich have Harrods and Harvey Nichols, the middle class have Habitat and John Lewis and the poor have Argos, which combines low prices, high security and tacky jewellery under one enormous roof. You can buy your Reebok Classics, Nike tracksuit, sovereign ring (see sovereign rings) and pay-as-you- go mobile at Argos, as well as picking up a plasma screen and a PlayStation 3. In fact, if the store were to branch out into booze, fags and a bit of weed then there really would be no need for Britain’s underclass to shop anywhere else. In fact, if we just built an Argos into the middle of every new estate, put high fences around the perimeter…sorry, where was I? Oh yes, they have a strange system of shopping, whereby you have to select your item from an in-store catalogue, pay at a till and then collect your goods elsewhere in the store. A bit like internet shopping without the internet and with more people in Burberry baseball caps (see burberry) smoking on your way in.
This thoroughbred strand of our society is born to lead, rule and have no chin. The chin was deliberately bred out of the class when it was found to inhibit correct soup eating, shouting ‘yah’ really loudly and certain secret aristocratic sex rituals, the likes of which we can only imagine. The chin also stops the nose being able to get quite so close to the cocaine, for a clean, mess-free snort. Previously entitled to rule via hereditary seats in the House of Lords, the old aristocracy is giving way to a new financial aristocracy who buy their seats in the new ‘more democratic’ upper house. This leaves the old aristocracy more time to murder nannies, shoot stuff and drive around their land wearing tweed (see harris tweed).
The Antisocial Behaviour Order is not, as some think, a court order that means you must behave in an antisocial manner, like some magistrate-lead game of Simon Says. Instead, it is an order of merit awarded to those who have proven great skill in the pursuit of being an absolute twat. As sought after as a place on the New Year’s Honours list or a military decoration, the ASBO is a sign you have arrived and done great works among your community, whether it be playing the same Kylie record over and over at ear-splitting volume or punching out anyone who looks at you slightly askance. Winners of ASBOs are given special privileges, which means that they do not have to work ever again. Employers are instructed to not take them on, even if they beg, as their place in society is beyond mere employment.
An orgy of frolicking, foraging and fornication, this hidden camera television show lets us see what our wonderful wildlife is getting up to when we are off at work or tucked up in bed. This is fairly passable if you catch it once while eating your dinner from a tray on your knees, but watch it more than once and you may find yourself caring more about a family of ducks than is actually healthy for a sane adult. The topic is interesting though, so what may liven things up is having former Goodie Bill Oddie trade jobs with investigative blowhard Donal McIntyre. That way McIntyre can report on the problems of violence among gangs of blackbirds while Oddie can hole up in a caravan on a Leeds housing estate, commentating on feral youth and the disintegration of society. ‘Aw, look. Here comes one of our crackheads, I think…yes, it’s Dean and is that Tracy with him? Yes it is, and she is carrying their new crack baby. Now over to Kate, who has just caught a lovely happy slapping in Aberdeen.’
Depending upon your point of view, these are either evil tuberculosis-spreading vermin that would eat a baby given half a chance or they are just bizarrely prehistoric-looking creatures that snuffle around woodlands at night eating worms. Some say that they could be as intelligent as dolphins, but as scientists traditionally like to have an early night no one has yet been able to put these claims to the test. Badger-baiting is a popular pursuit among inbred rural folk, who gather around badger setts shouting insults like ‘Come on then, stripey!’ before fleeing into the night.
An essential part of the fried breakfast (be it the English, Scots, Welsh or Northern Irish variation), baked beans are very much a national favourite, so much so that supermarkets are often willing to sell them at a loss just to get customers in to their stores. They know that we cannot resist a can of beans for 7p, even if we know they are the ones scraped from the remains of truckers’ breakfasts at transport cafés on the M6. Also eaten on toast, jacket potatoes or with chips, baked beans are worth £300 million in sales per year in the UK. The cost in environmental terms of our taste for the saucy haricot beans is still to be measured, with invisible methane clouds said to hang over many greasy spoon cafés (see greasy spoons) and most building sites.
The discarded condoms, the crushed cans of lager and the remains of a joint on the floor: nothing says relic of an age gone by like a bandstand. These ornate structures were built in our town parks and on cliff tops, mostly during the Edwardian and Victorian era, to provide a focal point for musical appreciation by the masses. Sadly, though, the masses discovered Radio 1, record players and, eventually, MP3 players, all of which left the bandstand to the winos, hoodies (see hoodies) and skateboarders. Some bandstands have enjoyed a revival of late, thanks mostly to local historical organisations.
Like it’s cousin, pie and mash, this traditional dish of sausages and mashed potato ensures that every Briton gets the necessary combination of protein and carbohydrate without too much excess of chewing or worry about what kind of organs lie within the meaty part of the meal. Often served with onion gravy and a side serving of English mustard, bangers and mash is a staple dish in many pubs. If the pub you are in is a gastropub then you will be told all about the provenance of the sausages as well as the name of the farmer who grew the spuds. You will then be charged £12.95. Bangers are so called because they are fat sausages that are likely to split open with a bang as they are cooked. You can always tell a good banger chef by his terrible complexion, which should be marked by hundreds of splashes of scalding hot fat emanating from exploding sausages.
One thing that we took from the Roman invasion was the enjoyment of baths, so much so that a home is now considered incomplete without one. Showers are all very well to use on a holiday abroad, but our economy relies upon the vast range of products we use to spice up the time we spend wallowing in our own filth and dead skin, from bath salts and bubble bath to scented candles and portable radios. Many Brits feel so at home in the bath they choose to end their life in it, often committing suicide upon hearing their football team’s result on the radio or after calculating how much in debt they are due to all the money they have spent on scented candles and bath oils.
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