It's pretty apt that a funeral parlour off a roundabout in this town on the north-east coast of Essex could well be considered the spiritual home of UKIP.
The football ground's role has changed. Once a Saturday pilgrimage, it's now just one part of the over-televised circus.
For me and other Southenders, the town represents the oxygen outside London's claustrophobic pile-up of representations and ambitions.
Sacha Baron Cohen's Grimsby is evidence that, in today's culture, working-class toughness is something to be mocked. Why have we turned poor people into punchlines?