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A couple of years ago on British TV there was a two part drama called "The Tribe" about a disaffected group of relatively well-to-do oddballs who lived in a converted warehouse, had some sort of business in drug production or dealing, and regularly make the journey across town, en masse, sweeping through parks, down side streets, and across wasteland, to see their connections.

Their trips across town were something of a set piece. The group strode rather than ambled, wrapped up in either leather gear or swirling greatcoats. None smiled; most wore an intense scowl. Without exception, they had well squared shoulders, and moved rather woodenly, their heads appearing to turn only in conjunction with their shoulders. Often they would stop, gazing out ahead, looking into mid distance.

They stood out like a separate race from the general populace, who were clearly intimidated by them; until, at the denouement of the film, cracks in their armour appeared and they disintegrated into a disorganised rabble, at which point they looked almost normal.

After watching this, I read a damning review in the following week's Sunday newspaper, and was amused by the writer's description of the group crossing the town as "looking like Alexander teachers on an outing".