. . . . . the North West of England. There, I’ve said it, and I’m fucked if I’m going to apologise for it.
Do we, or do we not live in the greatest region on the planet? Of course we fucking do, there really is nowhere like it. Yeah of course it pisses down 364 days a year but that’s just a minor set back. If it’s a bit of colour you’re after you can always book yourself in for a session on one of those sunbeds. And if the grey skies are leaving you feeling a bit flat then why not invest in one of those daft fucking lamps to stare at. How anyone can say they suffer from that SAD (Seasonal Adjustment Disorder) when they live here is beyond me. Where is the adjustment living in the North West, it rains, then it rains and then it rains some more.
Anyway, if the lamp doesn’t work then get down to your local pound shop and buy a job lot of lighters and candles to illuminate your mind. Failing that get a job lot of paracetamol and do away with yourself, basking in the glory of a cheap North West of England death.
In this region of ours we have two of Britain’s, in fact the worlds, greatest cities. Liverpool and Manchester have everything and are ably assisted by the surrounding satellite towns and suburbs. We’ve two of the most successful football clubs in Europe, who play in the Premiership with five other North West clubs, making the region the most represented part of England in the most exciting league in the world.
Musically we’ve produced some of the biggest/best bands ever to record or grace stages all over the globe, go on I’ll say it, The Beatles. From the telly there’s just too much to choose from. But for the purposes of balance I give you Coronation St and Brookside. The former being the first soap to ever have women cast in the lead roles (Ena Sharples, Annie Walker and Elsie Tanner), not exactly conforming to the stereotypical northern monkey image. And all written by a script writer from Swinton, Tony Warren.
We’ve got great artists from yesteryear like L.S Lowry to contemporary names such as Wigan’s own Darren Almond. There’s poets like Mike Duff and the comedians are coming out of the floorboards with geniuses like Eric Sykes, Les Dawson, the list goes on and on.
It’s the difference between blonde and brunette. Years ago when I was a nipper I’d go into Liverpool regularly. Whilst there I’d watch the break-dancers and body poppers outside of St Johns Market and then piss about on the ferry for hours on end cadging cigs and drinking tea. One thing that always struck me was how stunningly beautiful the women were, all with long dark hair and bright red lips. Sultry looking and self assured, and always out of my reach. Women like these demanded that you get to know them before anything happened, and even then nothing was guaranteed. However, if you were lucky enough to get the nod you knew you were spending time in the company of class. This is the North West.
Whereas on the other hand, the blonde bimbos were easy pickings and everyone could have a go. On first inspection they looked great, all tits and teeth. But after the dirty deed was done there was nothing left but smudged foundation and rotten skin. No conversation, no views on anything in life and an almost uncontrollable urge of the blonde bint to check her appearance at every opportunity. This is London. All glamour and glitz but with no substance.
Anyway I’ve going off track again. I’m not here to give you an A-Z of every aspect of North West culture, mainly because I can’t. a more cultured writer than I could have expanded this piece and really drove the point home, but I’m not him/her, so fuck it. I just merely want to point out that the place has more than most, if not all. So next time you start fucking moaning then take a step back and have a look around. There really is nowhere better.