MOCAŠ
MB Enthusiast
Spent the day in Chelmsford, Essex yesterday while my car was being pampered (see the Detailing thread for, erm, details).
Having dropped the car off, I walked to the town centre, arriving just as the market traders were setting up stall. All seemed to be offering high quality merchandise, including flowers, fresh fish, artisan breads, locally sourced 'fast food' and the obligatory fruit'n'veg.
The town centre is a curate's egg, in parts charming but mainly given over to the usual assortment of chain stores and banks that can be seen in any other identikit English town. A solitary swan could be seen diving for fish in the River Can, one of two algae-strewn rivers that wind their way between the shopping facilities, while there are a few preserved historic buildings dotted amongst the commercial developments to give the place a touch of character. Break free of the shopping area, and to the north can be found the impressive 15th Century Chelmsford Cathedral and the imposing shire hall. A wander to the town centre's southern extremity revealed nothing more interesting than the sight of a policewoman (is that term still current?) standing guard over a triangular patch of grassland, which had ominously been cordoned off with tape bearing the instruction: "POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS".
The shopping experience is itself a strange mix of upmarket and downmarket; where else would you see a Bang und Olufsen store within spitting distance of a shop that charges £1 for any given purchase - a seemingly curious business model that results in some of Poundland's merchandise being overpriced tat that would surely not find shelf space anywhere else, while alongside were everyday consumables being sold in bundles of sufficient quantity as to justify the all-important price tag. I suppose it is the ultimate expression of the concept of knowing where you stand, and it seemed to be catching on as elsewhere in the town was a shop selling frozen processed foodstuffs in bundles costing £1, £2 or £3. Easy as (Chelmsford) 123, you might say...
The locals seem to fall into two broad camps: Glam and Downtrodden (perhaps explaining the mix of shops). The former wear heavy tans and drive flashy cars with occasionally dubious number plates, while the latter are charcterised by a short, stocky appearance and a tendency to wander around aimlessly, either mumbling to or shouting at each other. Any attempt to flash them a warm "good day to you" smile was either ignored or met with an untrusting scowl. The menfolk tend to either have their hair dyed straw-blond (glam) or completely shaven off (downtrodden) with a certain amount of crossover between the two, while the ladies of both persuasions seem to share the characteristic of displaying an ample cleavage, which in some cases was quite age-inappropriate. No surprise, then, to find an advert featured prominently in the window of a 'lingerie' shop declaring: "Instant boob job - The Cleavage Effect; only at Ann Summers."
The children mainly looked well turned out and were well behaved, although I was a little alarmed to see a pre-teen youngster with an extensive tatoo gracing his right arm. There was also some evidence that the aforementioned Poundland store's offering of gi-normous quantities of chocolate (we're talking about Toblerones big enough to be used as an offensive weapon) for the price of one-and-a-half normal-sized bars was taking its toll. In fact, as I walked past the town's swimming pool, with its defining feature of an externally-mounted water-slide tunnel, I thought uncharitable - almost Dahlian - thoughts about the prospect of an oversized child getting stuck halfway, only to be freed with a jolt when the next one came hurtling along.
Archetypal Essex Barryboy culture was not much in evidence, with only two sightings of modded cars, both being noisy Fiestas: one having a dustbin-diameter exhaust, the other blasting out drum'n'bass at tooth-loosening volume. I imagine the town has been saved largely by dint of the fact that the adherents who regularly ply the route between Romford and Southend-on-Sea would tend to fork off at Gallows Corner...
I ended up spending the greater part of the day - not to mention a small fortune - in the town's Oxfam second hand book shop. Although quite small, it boasts a surprisingly eclectic range of titles considering its provincial location.
As for the car, well, let's just say it's now rather shiny. You can read about that here.
Having dropped the car off, I walked to the town centre, arriving just as the market traders were setting up stall. All seemed to be offering high quality merchandise, including flowers, fresh fish, artisan breads, locally sourced 'fast food' and the obligatory fruit'n'veg.
The town centre is a curate's egg, in parts charming but mainly given over to the usual assortment of chain stores and banks that can be seen in any other identikit English town. A solitary swan could be seen diving for fish in the River Can, one of two algae-strewn rivers that wind their way between the shopping facilities, while there are a few preserved historic buildings dotted amongst the commercial developments to give the place a touch of character. Break free of the shopping area, and to the north can be found the impressive 15th Century Chelmsford Cathedral and the imposing shire hall. A wander to the town centre's southern extremity revealed nothing more interesting than the sight of a policewoman (is that term still current?) standing guard over a triangular patch of grassland, which had ominously been cordoned off with tape bearing the instruction: "POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS".
The shopping experience is itself a strange mix of upmarket and downmarket; where else would you see a Bang und Olufsen store within spitting distance of a shop that charges £1 for any given purchase - a seemingly curious business model that results in some of Poundland's merchandise being overpriced tat that would surely not find shelf space anywhere else, while alongside were everyday consumables being sold in bundles of sufficient quantity as to justify the all-important price tag. I suppose it is the ultimate expression of the concept of knowing where you stand, and it seemed to be catching on as elsewhere in the town was a shop selling frozen processed foodstuffs in bundles costing £1, £2 or £3. Easy as (Chelmsford) 123, you might say...
The locals seem to fall into two broad camps: Glam and Downtrodden (perhaps explaining the mix of shops). The former wear heavy tans and drive flashy cars with occasionally dubious number plates, while the latter are charcterised by a short, stocky appearance and a tendency to wander around aimlessly, either mumbling to or shouting at each other. Any attempt to flash them a warm "good day to you" smile was either ignored or met with an untrusting scowl. The menfolk tend to either have their hair dyed straw-blond (glam) or completely shaven off (downtrodden) with a certain amount of crossover between the two, while the ladies of both persuasions seem to share the characteristic of displaying an ample cleavage, which in some cases was quite age-inappropriate. No surprise, then, to find an advert featured prominently in the window of a 'lingerie' shop declaring: "Instant boob job - The Cleavage Effect; only at Ann Summers."
The children mainly looked well turned out and were well behaved, although I was a little alarmed to see a pre-teen youngster with an extensive tatoo gracing his right arm. There was also some evidence that the aforementioned Poundland store's offering of gi-normous quantities of chocolate (we're talking about Toblerones big enough to be used as an offensive weapon) for the price of one-and-a-half normal-sized bars was taking its toll. In fact, as I walked past the town's swimming pool, with its defining feature of an externally-mounted water-slide tunnel, I thought uncharitable - almost Dahlian - thoughts about the prospect of an oversized child getting stuck halfway, only to be freed with a jolt when the next one came hurtling along.
Archetypal Essex Barryboy culture was not much in evidence, with only two sightings of modded cars, both being noisy Fiestas: one having a dustbin-diameter exhaust, the other blasting out drum'n'bass at tooth-loosening volume. I imagine the town has been saved largely by dint of the fact that the adherents who regularly ply the route between Romford and Southend-on-Sea would tend to fork off at Gallows Corner...
I ended up spending the greater part of the day - not to mention a small fortune - in the town's Oxfam second hand book shop. Although quite small, it boasts a surprisingly eclectic range of titles considering its provincial location.
As for the car, well, let's just say it's now rather shiny. You can read about that here.
