I suppose I should preface this by saying I speak nothing like any of the ******, ********** characters that populate this particular city of the UK. I have the accent of someone from down South and as such, receive various insults about me ‘sounding posh’. My Mother hails from this city but actually has morals, follows rules and is generally a decent person. My father comes from London, so naturally he gets a pass. In this, I also make an effort to distinguish myself from the rest of this city, relying heavily on my hybrid North-South heritage and the fact that I’m finally leaving the city in September and will never return. Anyway:
Having grown up in this city my entire life, I cannot stress to people outside of this city looking to move here that you will heavily regret your decision, and your children will also receive constant abuse for sounding remotely different from the shrill, nasally accent that every ‘scouser’ communicates in (even their own name baffles me. Why would you want to be collectively referred to as a type of stew? Liverpudlian works fine, sorry the rest of the country calls you by a collective term with 3 more syllables than your feral minds can comprehend). I can’t put into words just how miserable growing up in this horrid place has been. The people attempt to grind you and your individuality down because they fear people with more than single digit IQs and who dress in clothes other than the latest black track suit. They cannot comprehend someone the same age as them can speak differently. They despise anyone with any modicum of individuality in their den of squalor.
The University is excellent, though due to it being located in a city known for having some of the worst progress results for Secondary School, the University swims in a sea of brainless, often-stoned teenagers and benefit-********** that hurl some form of abuse at you if you walk past them. I cannot help but feel sorry for the fresh-faced students that wander around the city looking at accommodation with hope and optimism in their eyes, their purity and naiveté to the people around them gives me the urge to tell them to take their second offer or just stay at home and do an apprenticeship; just anything to avoid becoming trapped in such a dismal, miserable place.
The city centre’s not all it’s cracked up to be either. Many people in Liverpool vehemently defend Liverpool One as some revolutionary shopping centre, when in reality it’s little more than an over-glorified set of streets with the typical assortment of ‘scouse’ shops such as Sports Direct (no doubt basking in the revenue of every teenager wanting to buy a black tracksuit to terrorise neighbourhoods). It does have two cathedrals though.
Wavertree, Liverpool: in recent years its gone down the pisser
Bootle, apart from The Strand, there is bugger all else
Maghull, a skid mark on the underpants of society
Birkenhead: Enter at your own risk
Bootle – The Sh*thole of Merseyside
Birkenhead: the roid ridden a***hole of merseyside
Parr, St Helens – Personally Antagonising, Really Repulsive
One fine Sunday in Merseyside
Birkenhead: full of losers and utterly ruthless backstabbers