I often think.

I went to my niece’s wedding in Oldham a few years back and it being a warm day I was feeling thirsty.   I ventured out into the wide world from the church venue to buy a couple of bottles of cold water for my wife and myself. Little did I know what problems such an innocuous pursuit would bring me. I found a sandwich shop with such dubious items as ‘Filled Barm Cakes’ advertised in the window. Glancing in their shop window they had bottled water in a chiller cabinet.   Why I had to check first I know not. Did ‘they’ drink water in Oldham? I breezed in and joined the short queue. My turn to be served came, the shop was empty save for me and the few assistants. “Can I have two bottles of water please?” The assistant froze and stared blankly back at me, “Eh?” was all she could manage in reply. Thinking my English was lacking I corrected myself, “May I have two small bottles of water please?” I helpfully pointed to the bottled water in the chill...

There. I‘ve said it in the title. I don’t enjoy living in Cumbria: especially here in west Cumbria. It has nothing for me. It has nothing for us. It only had work for my partner in the first place; the only job that she could get 7 years ago. They soon made her redundant from that and we struggled financially. My partner now works and lives in Sheffield, 36 years of marriage cleaved by living in the wrong place. Why is it considered so heinous a statement to express a dislike of an area? It seems alright for people to say “I couldn’t live in London, Leeds or Manchester.” That is somehow more acceptable and people nod in agreement or express their dislike of big towns. However, say you dislike the sacred, beloved Lake District of Wordsworth and Beatrix Potter and you receive a torrent of approbation; “How can you say that? It’s lovely up there.” Yep. It’s lovely for one or two week’s holiday. Just try 312 sodding consecutive weeks with no break, save for two weeks in Gre...