There are a group of boys about 12 - 16 years of age clustered outside the door of a newsagent's. They are all dressed almost identically- some sort of white/blue tracksuit, most likely with some kind of stripe pattern. The trousers are baggy and tucked into their white sports socks, which are pulled up stupidly high. Many of their heads are topped with some kind of baseball cap, and most of their necks are adorned with thick imitation gold/silver chains. Their hair is shaved almost bald at the back and sides, and is gelled neatly forward onto their spotty foreheads in a series of precise spikes. Their eyes are sunken and in their hands they clutch cigarettes and bottles of Stella Artois. Anybody who walks past who does not resemble them exactly will be spat at, challenged, insulted, shoved and generally attacked, and anyone who passes by who looks similar to them will be sworn at and possibly stabbed to death.
They are sometimes seen with girlfriends, who wear their hair in pigtails and plaster their ugly faces with enough make-up to cover the surface of the moon in a layer about two inches thick. They (unflatteringly) wear almost exacltly the same clothes as their boyfriends, except tighter and pulled lower down for the world to see the tops of black lace thongs poking from their flabby white arses. They wear earrings big enough to sit a budgie in.
"'ere you, dick'ead, 'ave you got twenny p fo't' bus? You what? you WHAT? Let me check them pockets! Yeah you 'ave, you dick'ead! Well what's that then!? Gi' me that you little cunt, or I'll fuckin' do you in proper bad! Yeah I will, dick'ead. I proper will! Don't start me, you little twat, 'cos I'll proper make somefin of it! 'Ere, Daz, come over ;ere an' 'elp us out!