Oh Liverpool is wonderful. I love Liverpool. It’s a city that creates emotion – you either love it or hate it. Or rather, people love or hate Scousers. To my mind, and in my experience, those that dislike Liverpool are middle class or Mancs. Liverpool is like a walking museum sometimes; the buildings and streets that form the city centre were primarily built using the money of the slave trade. Those years were the golden days of Liverpool’s economy and ever since the city has been on the slide financially. Despite the efforts of John, Paul, Ringo and George the city has never quite recreated its importance and the current residents are not there for the dough only thats for sure. Despite its poverty Scousers are justifiably proud and the city is now an enclave of a dying breed – the old fashioned white working class citizen. In fact it reminds me of my homelands of Essex; fake tans, jewellery, tracksuits and bad food.

One walk along the streets on a Saturday night reveals Irish Bar after Irish Bar full of singing bus drivers on Karaoke machines. I’m loving it. I love anywhere that has an identity and a past and there is a similarity between the East End overspill that modern Essex is made of and the people of Liverpool. Same humour, honesty and the same not-giving-a-fuck-about-you-or-your-crew and the same acceptance of anyone who wants to be a friend. All of this coupled with a love of football, music and culture that has emerged from this port town makes Liverpool a special place. The Scouse stereotype, like the Essex one, is a poison created by the chattering classes in a weak attempt to keep these people down. It’s not working and it hasn’t worked for hundreds of years despite the plebs from Milton Keynes trying their best. So up yours la you souless bags of water.

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