Slowly clawing its way up the charts and now in the bronze position is the town described by Monty Python as a ‘quaint northern village’. Rochdale is getting there, slowly but surely. Here’s what our contributors have to say:
Take in the smells – the strong whiff of tobacco and fatty foods with subtle hints of exhaust fumes, sweat and damp vegetables from the market area; see if you can detect a undertone of vomit, Karate aftershave and old cheese.
No need to hide the rolls of fat around one’s midriff, no need to bother with personal hygiene or inconveniences such as makeup or combs. You are now standing in the centre of the universe. Breath deep my friend, soak it up. Then make your choice – leave fast or stay forever.
Welcome to the cesspit of the universe, where evolution took a break and spat out this breed of useless slack-jawed yokels with less IQ than a glass of water
You have a choice, visit Rochdale or have your gonads beaten 800 times with a rusty sledgehammer wielded by a German bodybuilder… I’ll get the hammer.