Grey, grim, industrial Thames Estuary wasteland, neighbouring Lakeside, which shines in the distance like a **** Oz would to the **** Dorothy, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion. In Burberry.

Grays is a riverside hellhole, rows of pebbledashed terraces stuck under the Dartford Bridge, and flanked by Tilbury docks to the east. Grays does, in fact, look down on Tilbury to make itself feel better, but the **** count and the sheer number of people lolling around Grays market aimlessly means you can put a cigarette paper between them in all honesty.

All cars (must be some kind of DVLA byelaw) have West Ham stickers in the rear window, and the closest a Grays dweller will ever get to one of the world’s greatest and most exciting cities is the 20 minute trip to Upton Park every other Saturday, to wallow in their East End roots whilst ensuring they get the f- out before it gets dark.

Back in Grays they may well stop off for a pint in probably the least salubrious licenced premises in Britain, The Pullman, before walking home running the gauntlet of flying KFC bones and fat girls pulling at each others hair in frenzied attacks over malnourished boys.

I love it.

Its the **** mecca but in grays we have the upmarket ***** the burburry is making way for von dutch hats these idots couldnt afford real burburry and now they try to make out they could afford designer lables even if they sold there escort with diffrent colour bumpers and ill fitting wheels which they nicked and there **** sisters,they aint fooling any one.Burburry and extreamly white tainners are standard issue at the dole office,they are mainly found out side newsagents in groups of 4-7 trying to get any one going in the shop to buy them some **** with the handful of coppers they can muster.