Hipsters and hellhounds

Shopping in Hackney is always an interesting experience. By interesting, I mean sometimes amusing and often ball-achingly frustrating.

I live in one of the best cities in the world for shopping. I ought to be at Borough and Broadway markets buying fresh asparagus, venison burgers and stinky French cheese. But, I'm lazy and poor. So I go to my Tesco Express.

In the aisles, the twentysomething E8 hipsters mope foppishly about, baskets full of organic hummus and CheeseStrings. (It's fucking ironic, yeah? Like, it's not REAL food, yeah?) Maybe a can of cider or two. Hipsters don't really eat anyway, skinny jeans are unforgiving and it's important to have the slightly rickety demeanour of a Victorian orphan round here.

I once nipped in for a quick vaguely hungover shop (paper, bacon, Diet Coke) and got to the checkout only to question how drunk I'd been the night before. There stood three art-studenty looking types, two in full animal outfits (I think zebra and bear) and a guy sporting shiny leggings so tight I could tell he shaved his gentleman's area. They had big messy hair and were probably called Poppy, Giles and Jinty. They tried to buy three single cans of Kronenbourg (OMFG, I'm like sooooo drunk from last night, ya? Let's get beer for breakfast, it'll be, like, MENTAL!) then had an intense debate about which fucking pack of chewing gum to purchase. I gripped my basket tightly and restrained myself from swinging it violently in their direction.

Mingling with the big specs and deckshoes is normally an eastender or two, their slavering, big-bollocked Staffy-cross guarding the door while they yell across the shop.

"'ere! Maureen! Put that fackin' real butter dahn, I ain't fackin' made o' money. Pick me up a Sun yeah? And forty Sovereign."

I actually quite like the people in there, it's always entertaining. What drives me mad about Tesco is the product selection. What I LOVE is that I can't buy ground black pepper but I can buy four different varieties of chickpea flour and coconut milk. And I most certainly can get mugged off by paying over a quid for a teeny butternut squash. Oh, and I might be a working-class northerner living in Hackney, but SOMETIMES I JUST WANT SOME FRESH HERBS, DAMNIT.

So, while I commercially and morally disagree with Tesco's aggressive land-buying and marketing techniques, I'll just keep moaning and still patronising them because I can't be arsed with Borough Market today, and they once forgot to scan my bottle of wine resulting in FREE BOOZE. In your face, THE MAN!