For us oop norf, it’s with great pity that we follow your woes down there, a massive swaying tide of humanity on the roads, on the Tube, on the streets, trying to catch a taxi, squeezing into the bars with their blaring music, living like beasts.
You’re welcome to come to the wilds oop ‘ere, with open spaces, greenery, babbling brooks, the occasional car on the road, birds twittering about the new spring coming soon, away from the pressure cooker living at exorbitant prices down there.
Here you’re at one with nature and with no Bob Crowe within sight, no raging seas or fierce storms. We are a forgotten postscript to Britain oop ‘ere.
Tube systems don’t break down, leaving passengers to walk along the Central Line to safety, there are no Euston bombings, there’s no pressure cooker.
If you really must live down there, then it has to be because of work. However, if close to retirement, perhaps you’d consider a less stressed lifestyle in God’s own countryside.
Meander along a canal, have a picnic, get to another town by car in 20 minutes and the people are warm and friendly when not nicking things from your home.
You could learn to speak Geordie, Scouse, Mancunian but it wouldn’t help you, as I’m referring to the true norf out of those conurbations,
like Middlesb like Pickering or Masham, Goathland, Ugglebarnby.
So to all you long-suffering southerners – throw off your shackles, throw off your stresses and worries and coom oop norf.