The View from Parson Street Nose

"Look at this tacky thing, Debbie." A stern-looking woman with a rigid bob held out a flimsy wisp of Asda lingerie.

"I expect it was for Valentine's Day, Hils," replied Debbie. "People like a spot of romance at this miserable time of year."

"Romance!" expostulated Hils. "Can you imagine what Roger would say if I came home in one of these?"

"I expect," said Debbie. "He'd wonder why you hadn't been arrested yet."

Hils let out a snort that rebounded off the far reaches of the store.

"You're funny today, Debbie, aren't you?" she snarled.

I backed away before any of horrible Hils' poison came my way, almost tripping over an extremely pregnant blonde turning in disorientated circles in the gangway.

Suddenly the blonde jogged forwards. "There you are, Ar Ma," she said, her face beaming with relief.

"I'm 'ere," said the woman, an older, blonder, far less pregnant version of her daughter.

"I've gone and lost Ar Nan," said the girl.

"I ain't seen 'er," said Ar Ma. "Now what do you think of this slinger, Clo?"

Ar Ma dangled a bra the size of a lacy crane mount in front of her daughter's nose.

"It's a bit black," said Clo. "'Ere she is! Where've you been, Ar Nan?"

Ar Nan bore down on them with an armful of boxes. Her mass of platinum hair crouched as if it was waiting to make a break for the nearest exit.  She dropped the boxes into the trolley, looking up with eyes ringed with enough anthracite to give a hint of Ching-Ching.

"I been down with they eggs," she said, jabbing an elbow behind her.

"Ahh," sighed Clo, letting her fingers run longingly over a Kit-Kat Easter egg. "Ar baby likes chocolate."

"That baby," said Ar Nan in a voice that sounded as if she'd been gargling hot asphalt. "'E likes a lot of stuff, dun 'e? 'E soon saw off that Chinese last night."

"Babies need food," said Clo, rubbing the hillock in front of her. "What do you think of the slinger Ar Ma's found?"

"It's a bit black," said Ar Nan.      

I emerged from the store into bright sunshine. Along Pawnbrokers Row, a red and a blue moto-scooter faced each other wheel to wheel.

"And I told him, I did," said the owner of the blue scooter. "You can't borry my Shoprider to go down Tesco's just 'cos you've got 'angover."

"What're they like, eh?" said the other woman. "My Colm's the same. Lazy little so and so, 'e is. 'E takes my Regatta out of a night and comes back stinking of Gangul. I told 'im, if you's goin' to use my Regatta to go down the garages, leave it upwind unless you wants your Nanna to nick your Kappa's and swipe all your rap-hop."

She began to gyrate on the scooter, making it sway alarmingly, sending the other woman into fits of wheezy giggles.