On a nice spring day like today, what is an ‘in-between
roles ‘ soap character like me to do other than hop on the bus to town for a
mooch round the shops and enjoy a few bevies with old friends?
I fancied myself a new pair of denims, as my favourite stone
wash Wranglers are getting a bit old now, so I was wandering through Liverpool
One trying to find this G-Star shop that @TinheadFTM recommended and I came
across this strange smell. It smelled like the
scent of really pretentious rich teenagers who would pay more for a popped
collar polo shirt than I paid for my first car.
I looked to my left to see where this overpowering odour was coming from, and saw some kind of strange surf shack / beach house thing, with loud funky music blasting out of the dark window shutters.
I looked to my left to see where this overpowering odour was coming from, and saw some kind of strange surf shack / beach house thing, with loud funky music blasting out of the dark window shutters.
“What. The. Fuck’s. This?” I said to my double denimed self. I thought
it was a nightclub or something, so popped in for a Babycham.
“Hey, welcome to Hollister”
goes this posh-non-scouse- bird wearing a checked shirt 4 sizes too big
for her and some denim hotpants. *note
to self: get some of those hotpants for Summer* I just about heard her over the ear-rapingly
loud music.
Once my eyes had adjusted to the fact that it’s darker than
a Chilean mine shaft in there, I realised I wasn’t in a bar, but was actually
in some fucked up Californian fraternity house type shop that would fit right in on the set of the 90210 remake.
Piles of overpriced t-shirts resting neatly on a dining
table that defo used to be me Nan’s... A load of trackies rolled up stored in a
bookcase ... A load of hoodies folded
with a ruler and spirit level placed on a rustic wooden bench... fuck me.. Never seen such bad grip in my
life.
“Hey, what’s up.” Goes
this open shirted-non-scouse-bloke.
“I’ll tell you what’s up, I can’t see fuck all, I can’t hear
myself think, and WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS PLACE? And why can’t you just turn the
big light on?”
Instead of answering me, the beaut just flexed his muscles
and flashed his Hollywood smile.
I was then distracted by two lads trying to decide which t-shirt was most, and I quote, “epic”. Who the fuck calls a T-shirt epic? I’ll tell you who DOESN’T... scousers! These two were obviously Uni students who need to bail the fuck out of Liverpool the day they graduate before they end up another statistic on the Echo’s gun crime map.
Another waft of aftershave (Eau de Pretentious) came through
the air conditioning and I nearly vommed, I had to get out of this non-scouse hell hole
and fast. But then I seen that the shopping bags have a proper fit guy with no
top on them, so I had to buy something didn’t I.
I was then distracted by two lads trying to decide which t-shirt was most, and I quote, “epic”. Who the fuck calls a T-shirt epic? I’ll tell you who DOESN’T... scousers! These two were obviously Uni students who need to bail the fuck out of Liverpool the day they graduate before they end up another statistic on the Echo’s gun crime map.
Another waft of aftershave (Eau de Pretentious) came through
the air conditioning and I nearly vommed, I had to get out of this non-scouse hell hole
and fast. But then I seen that the shopping bags have a proper fit guy with no
top on them, so I had to buy something didn’t I.
Ended up with this monstrosity..... --->
Thought it
was beige coz of the light in there, didn’t I. Turns out its the colour of a Mr
Kipling lemon fondant fancy and now @TinheadFTM is calling me “a bad nonce and
a wool combined”.
Moral of the story is...
Hollister is not scouse.
Hollister = wool
Popped collars = wool
Clothes that are solid primary colours = wool
Wanting to look like you're off the set of 90210 = wool
Saying a tshirt is epic = ThunderCuntish
