I was walking round Bromley on Saturday. Just minding me own business, trying to pick up a few bits whist staving off waves of gastritis (more of that to follow – what a lovely week or so it’s been).
And as I stood there, trying to cool down and not vomit on a stranger, I picked up a pair of Nike Air jogging shorts in JD Sports. Kid you not, they looked a dream. Proper comfy, still designer and I dreamed up ways I could pull them off whilst looking sexy with a messy bun and some smudged eye make up.
My inner roadman was back with a vengeance and whilst I tried to keep all thoughts of looking like a chav or looking like a rude girl at bay, my need to be comfortable reigned ever true, and I wanted my skinny jeans off and in a burning heap somewhere.
I looked around me. I wasn’t alone in my quest for ultimate comfort. I was surrounded my leggings, high tops and hoodies.
And I realised why. I was in South London.
And if there’s something that’s important to us it’s not dressing like something out of Blazin’ Squad, it’s being comfy.
Being comfy and;
- ‘Doing a meal”
Not going out for dinner. Not catching up with friends over sushi.
No. We ‘do a meal’.
“Ah we aint seen each other in ages, let’s do a meal”
“Cor, I fancy a blow out – shall we start off doing a meal and then go out on the smash?”
“You’ve got to come to my Mum’s on Sunday babes, she’s doing a meal”.
- “Having a few bob”
Not worried about what properties we own or how much taxable income we’ve got coming in. As long as we’ve ‘got a few bob’ we’re alright.
“No he’s a nice guy, got his own place, good car, clearly got a few bob”
“Yeah I can do a large one Saturday night mate, just got paid so I’ve got a few bob”
“Had a blinder at the races mate, came home with a few bob”*
*read “I literally won £700 on one horse and subsequently spent it all on lager.
- Being comfy
Thought it best to go into this into a tad more depth before you thought I’d lost the plot. But look around any shopping centre south of the river and it’s apparent, being comfy is an ultimate priority for South Londoners and the more roadman the clothes, the better for our overall comfort levels.
We want Adidas. We want joggers. We don’t give a shit.
Nothing sexier for a South London boy then seeing a South London girl in a pair of his Nike joggers, mate. Buff.
Woman, Saturday afternoon, shopping centre. Full face of make up. Nice handbag. Adidas leggings and really expensive hoodie. Comfy.
Man, Friday evening, cinema with girlfriend. Jogging bottoms and a beanie. Zero fucks given if he has travelled to venue in his car. If he aint seen on road looking like a tramp, he don’t care. Comfy.
This is me having got back from doing a bit of shopping.
Fucks given – zero.
- Our reputation.
Because apparently if you were born down souf you’re a knife wielding drug lord. Cheers Highgate wankers.
Thanks for coming.
“Yea, I was born in Brixton. Don’t worry tho, I aint got a shank in my shoe”
“Where am I from? Croydon, mate. It’s cool. I’m not in a gang”
“Yes I’m from Peckham. Yes a couple lads from class are doing time. No, I do actually have a proper job ta.”
- Repping where you’re from.
Any excuse to highlight positive things that have come out of your fair town, and you are there like a dutty South town crier, mate.
“Stormzy? You like Stormzy? South boy ain’t he. He went college with my cousin init”*
*Stormzy went to college with everyone’s cousin.
- Having a night ‘indoors’.
Not a night at home. Not a night relaxing in the lounge.
I want a box set. I want some relatively rude boy garms to wear. I might do a cheeky little HungryHouse (South Londoners aint about that Deliveroo life).
I’m staying indoors.
“What am I doing Saturday night? Not a lot to be honest, quite fancy a night indoors’
“Where am I? I’m indoors mate, it’s Sunday. I’m indoors”
Eating chicken. Buying chicken. Going to get chicken. Talking about chicken. Wishing you’d bought more chicken when you were at the place that sells the chicken. Rating the chicken you’ve just eaten. Thinking you and your mates should develop an app to compare different chicken. Pondering how people have never eaten chicken shop chicken. Wondering if it’s OK to go out and get chicken pre midday. Wondering if it’s OK to go and get chicken twice in one day. Wishing everywhere just sold chicken shop chips.
Any South Londoner. On any South London street. On any given day, bruv.