Southern European Fashionistas By Laura Fry

Southern European fashionistas They really do my head in With their snotty manner and ten-inch stilettos That no-one in their right mind would be seen dead in Trying to get a smile on their faces Is like trying to jump a ten-metre hurdle Because they just sit there and look everyone up and down Whilst leaving their lattes to curdle Their false, forced, icy glares Look like they're just about to crack It seems to be against their religion to smile, to have a laugh Or to act even slightly laid-back They come to the pub to watch the footie and the blokes But never do they shout or cheer They sip a single glass of sparkling wine Never ever a few pints of beer They always dress alike, the same humdrum colours Usually black, grey, beige or brown And their hair is peroxide, dark roots clear to see Fringeless, long and ironed down

They spend so much time clogging up the ladies' loo That if you need a wee you have to go to the men's Their bulging make-up bags, their comments and their gossip It's really nothing but a superficial pretence They all smoke poncy slimline cigs That cost twice as much for half the amount Because the impression they make is all that matters And for this reason money no longer counts Let them come to Northern Europe for just one day Where lads and lasses have a laugh together But the laugh this time would be at their expense Because we'd knock them down like a feather We in the North know how to live life Without any shallow, false inhibitions We're not ashamed to be ourselves And in bright colours we're individuals in mint condition I can't wait to get back to the North Where you don't wear full make-up just to catch the bus And I'll bet that the Southern European fashionistas in their heart of hearts Would do anything to be one of us!

Copyright Laura Fry 2007

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