I can’t believe there’s no entry on this site for Morden. Let me enlighten you……
Morden, Surrey is situated at the end of the Northern Line and is but a short drive in a souped-up Nova from the **** strongholds of Sutton (AKA Slutton) and Mitcham. The filthy ***** of Morden congregate in the main outside the tube station, where they will swig alcopops of assorted colours and hurl abuse at commuters returning home from work. Of equal delight to the Morden **** is “Poundstretcher” and “Lidl” (where female ***** will meet, swap coupons and do a little shoplifting) and of course, “Morden Kebab”. The local KFC also does a roaring trade when giro day comes around and the ***** want to sample more up-market culinary delights.
The Morden **** is instantly recognisable. The male of the species will have the standard issue white tracky bottoms, Reebok Classics, Nike or Adidas baseball cap, fake gold chains and will sport a snide Chelsea home shirt – in homage to the “’ardest club araaand innit”. Females will be all of the above, with the addition of scraped back bleached hair, row upon row of Elizabeth Duke earrings, and will happily show off their bare midriffs – whatever their shape or size.
The “Middle-aged ****” is also well represented in Morden. To be found in any of Morden’s four pubs or betting shops, he will typically be 40 years of age, with a shaven head, tattoos everywhere, and is usually dressed in XXXXXXL tracky bottoms and a vest (and/or the aforementioned Chelsea shirt). He will look as though he could lift a bus – but would have trouble spelling it.
Morden ***** start out young and aspire to be as “bling” as their Sutton/Mitcham/Croydon counterparts. A scary thought indeed.
