I was riding my inter-stellar warp speed bicycle across the Essex star system once when I suddenly dropped out of hyperspace. Welcome to Planet Benfleet, said the sign. I was unexpectedly short of my destination.
I spied a native of the planet, a female, sitting on a wall, masticating. "Excuse me, fair maid of Benfleet", said I. "Could you tell me the way to Planet Pitsea?"
She looked me up and down with a sneer, masticated some more, and then uttered what I took to be a local Benfleet greeting; "Wanker!" she said. A strange greeting thought I.
I consulted my handlebar mounted star-fleet bicycle computer with galactic interpreter and heart-rate monitor. I punched in the greeting and it gave me the local response. "Slag" I retorted in a friendly manner, keen to return the local greeting.
"What did you call me, you wanker?" rejoined the fair Essex maid, advancing belligerently.
I was concerned now that I had unwittingly upset the native. I double checked the computer. Sure enough, I had misread the recommended response.
"Fat slag!" I shouted back, imitating her tone. Just then my Shimano cyclist’s defence system incoming missile alarm sounded. I ducked just in time as a large Benfleet handbag narrowly missed my head.
Strange place this Essex star system, I thought, as I hurriedly engaged the hyper drive and pedalled off into space. Never mind, no doubt a warmer welcome awaited me on the legendary magic planet of Pitsea. A place rumoured to have a Lidl, an Aldi and a Tesco Extra all within spitting distance of each other.