Over a year ago now, I was summoned from my hometown of Warrington, in between Liverpool and Manchester, The North, to partake in a perilous mission: to venture to a vast, southern, gravy-less wasteland and report back on the behaviour of its people. I was worried; I’d seen Eastenders – I wasn’t sure if they’d ever stop shouting. I tried to learn the language before I came, though concepts like “quinoa” and “Waitrose” remain alien. Here are my findings:
1. The people here assume the North is backwards. They’re convinced it’s all cobbled streets and council houses. They’ve not heard about the Harvey Nicks in Manchester, and I’ve been asked if we have Marks and Spencer. We invented Marks and Spencer. I’ve been asked if it’s “like Billy Elliot.” No, that was the 80s.
2. I have come to realise that parts of the North are still basically stuck in the 80s, anyway. No one in the South dresses like they’re from This is England, and I’ve not seen any Fred Perry or Pretty Green for months. Instead of Parkas, they have Barbour jackets, seemingly to display their distaste for the fox-hunting ban. The clubs play music without words or guitars. State education, if it exists, does not provide a free copy of The Stone Roses on coming of age.*
3. Communication is difficult. It’s not just the obvious “ay up chuck,” etc., that I’m struggling with, but things I thought were normal (i.e. “dear” for “expensive” and “cordial” for “squash”) are things people seem to find hilarious. If you’re travelling here, remember to not refer to any young males as “lads’” unless they actually are misogynistic dicks. Also, “dickhead” is an insult in all contexts and cannot be used as a friendly greeting (“yarright dickhead”) unless you know the person well.
4. People eat dinner in the evenings, and for “lunch,” they will typically choose Prêt-à-Manger over the traditional Greggs. I’ve witnessed a Greggs close for the first time. How can there be so little pie-demand in all of Clifton? The food is strange; people refuse to eat chips with their curry, preferring all-rice to half-rice-half-chips. I’ve witnessed pasties being sold for £3, a long way from PoundBakery’s three for a pound. **
5. People ask you questions about places they assume you’ve been but are nowhere near where you live. “Oh, I have cousins in Wakefield, do you know … ?” “Have you been to this pub in Middlesbrough?” Why would I go to these places? Why have you gone there? Were you safe?
6. People here are better looking. Generations of people who have not had to go down mines or eat mushy peas have allowed Southerners to grow taller and have lovely, fluffy hair. Though going out on a mostly local-Bristolian night provides evidence that this is not a universal truth.
7. In the South, going out is very expensive. It’s been said that the extra £2 a pint pays for the fact that you’re 90 percent less likely to get twatted/have an organ stolen.
8. Some of the other Northerners at the uni are indistinguishable from certain locals – they apparently originate from the snazzier areas of Cheshire or Newcahstle but have never been spotted in the actual North. These “posh Northerners” are the Wills-bound offspring of the cotton-mill owners and whoever lives at Downton Abbey.
9. Prepare to unconsciously play up your Northernness. Pretend people are ignorant for not knowing the difference between Manchester and Salford (does anyone?), never pronounce prepositions and profess allegiances for things you never used to like. I’ve found myself playing Oasis. Oasis.
10. Don’t let on how secretly buzzing your Dad was when Thatcher died.
*This sort of Gallagherian outdated “mod” culture is probably only limited to half-Manc dumps like Warrington and may not be representative of the North in general.
** People in the North do not actually eat from PoundBakery, as it is inedible.