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Why Scunthorpe is not the least romantic place in Britain Why Scunthorpe is not the least romantic place in Britain
(7 months later)
The town of Scunthorpe has been voted the least romantic place in Britain by a poll for a hotels website. It's a predictable choice, and I suspect it's more to do with having that four-letter word stuffed into its name than any lack of rose gardens, picnic sites policed by swans holding wings or whatever it is that counts towards making a town seem loved-up. I've been to far less romantic places than North Lincolnshire.The town of Scunthorpe has been voted the least romantic place in Britain by a poll for a hotels website. It's a predictable choice, and I suspect it's more to do with having that four-letter word stuffed into its name than any lack of rose gardens, picnic sites policed by swans holding wings or whatever it is that counts towards making a town seem loved-up. I've been to far less romantic places than North Lincolnshire.
Once I ended up in a village made of factories, two hours' drive from Amsterdam, looking for a trance rave I was supposed to be reviewing, with no phone, no money and no Dutch. That was unromantic. Still, poor Scunthorpe. It had only just recovered from rapper Tinie Tempah using it as a cheap half-rhyme with Concorde by revealing that he'd never been there, in the same breath as boasting that he had, in fact, been to Southampton.Once I ended up in a village made of factories, two hours' drive from Amsterdam, looking for a trance rave I was supposed to be reviewing, with no phone, no money and no Dutch. That was unromantic. Still, poor Scunthorpe. It had only just recovered from rapper Tinie Tempah using it as a cheap half-rhyme with Concorde by revealing that he'd never been there, in the same breath as boasting that he had, in fact, been to Southampton.
I grew up around 15 miles away from Scunny. I went to its sixth-form college and failed my driving test there. It is grey and damp and industrial. In the early days of the internet you could never truthfully reply to a chatroom question about where you were from because you'd end up with a filtered reply that read something like "SBLOCKEDhorpe", which at best sounds like somewhere a Saturday night BBC4 murder detective might investigate crime. Its houses are square, 60s, functional. Its industry is steel. Its horizon is broken up with cooling towers. It's got hard hands and tired eyes.I grew up around 15 miles away from Scunny. I went to its sixth-form college and failed my driving test there. It is grey and damp and industrial. In the early days of the internet you could never truthfully reply to a chatroom question about where you were from because you'd end up with a filtered reply that read something like "SBLOCKEDhorpe", which at best sounds like somewhere a Saturday night BBC4 murder detective might investigate crime. Its houses are square, 60s, functional. Its industry is steel. Its horizon is broken up with cooling towers. It's got hard hands and tired eyes.
At 18 I was desperate to leave. I thought I was probably gay and I knew I was definitely bookish, and you could only buy books in the charity shops or in WH Smith. I hated the town centre. I hated Scunthorpe's nightclubs more, especially the visionary Club 2000, which sounded less like the future for the six years it stayed open after the millennium. It had nothing for me, I was sure of it. As soon as I finished college I took a National Express down south and I never lived there again.At 18 I was desperate to leave. I thought I was probably gay and I knew I was definitely bookish, and you could only buy books in the charity shops or in WH Smith. I hated the town centre. I hated Scunthorpe's nightclubs more, especially the visionary Club 2000, which sounded less like the future for the six years it stayed open after the millennium. It had nothing for me, I was sure of it. As soon as I finished college I took a National Express down south and I never lived there again.
But in the grand rhetoric of love gone sour, it wasn't Scunthorpe, it was me. Every kid with bloated dreams from a small town needs to rage at where they're from, because that becomes the fuel we need to escape. There was a brilliant BBC2 comedy a couple of years ago called Home Time, which was unjustly ignored by viewers and failed to be recommissioned as a result. It's about a woman, Gaynor, who goes back home to Coventry after a decade in London. Coventry is on this anti-romance list, too, at number six. There are many parallels; Coventry is as functional, solid and normal as Scunthorpe. It dresses modestly, and doesn't stand out from the crowd. It just exists, gets on with it.But in the grand rhetoric of love gone sour, it wasn't Scunthorpe, it was me. Every kid with bloated dreams from a small town needs to rage at where they're from, because that becomes the fuel we need to escape. There was a brilliant BBC2 comedy a couple of years ago called Home Time, which was unjustly ignored by viewers and failed to be recommissioned as a result. It's about a woman, Gaynor, who goes back home to Coventry after a decade in London. Coventry is on this anti-romance list, too, at number six. There are many parallels; Coventry is as functional, solid and normal as Scunthorpe. It dresses modestly, and doesn't stand out from the crowd. It just exists, gets on with it.
Home Time is embarrassing, funny and true – there are jokes about the petrol station branching out into sushi, and optimistic new-builds – but ultimately the drama is driven by romance. And that's not because Gaynor finds love, though there's a vague suggestion of it, but because she finds a sort of peace with Coventry that isn't nostalgia, more a recognition that where we're from makes us who we are, and there's no running away from that. That, to me, is romantic.Home Time is embarrassing, funny and true – there are jokes about the petrol station branching out into sushi, and optimistic new-builds – but ultimately the drama is driven by romance. And that's not because Gaynor finds love, though there's a vague suggestion of it, but because she finds a sort of peace with Coventry that isn't nostalgia, more a recognition that where we're from makes us who we are, and there's no running away from that. That, to me, is romantic.
Romance is weird and personal and unique to all of us, after all. That's why grownups get Twilight tattoos and slobber over Team Edward or Team Jacob. It's why couples propose on a submarine bobbing around the wreck of the Titanic, that loved-up watery deathbed of 1,500 people. It's Shane Warne and Liz Hurley, and Courtney Stodden and Doug Hutchison. Romance thrives on a well-flexed imagination. All of the places on the unromantic list – Bradford, Newport, Blackpool – are predominantly working-class. The ones that wooed voters – the Cotswolds, Oxford, Brighton – are not. This can't be a coincidence. Our collective idea of picture-perfect love is a snobbish cliche. It's a turn-off.Romance is weird and personal and unique to all of us, after all. That's why grownups get Twilight tattoos and slobber over Team Edward or Team Jacob. It's why couples propose on a submarine bobbing around the wreck of the Titanic, that loved-up watery deathbed of 1,500 people. It's Shane Warne and Liz Hurley, and Courtney Stodden and Doug Hutchison. Romance thrives on a well-flexed imagination. All of the places on the unromantic list – Bradford, Newport, Blackpool – are predominantly working-class. The ones that wooed voters – the Cotswolds, Oxford, Brighton – are not. This can't be a coincidence. Our collective idea of picture-perfect love is a snobbish cliche. It's a turn-off.
The Lake District topped the poll. Of course it did. The Lake District is Wordsworth and National Trust blankets and teacakes. It's the vacant high-school jock in a teen movie about weirdos. It's lovely looking. It would buy you a perfectly nice meal in a perfectly nice restaurant, would walk you home and wouldn't even try to touch you up, because it's so bloody nice and polite.The Lake District topped the poll. Of course it did. The Lake District is Wordsworth and National Trust blankets and teacakes. It's the vacant high-school jock in a teen movie about weirdos. It's lovely looking. It would buy you a perfectly nice meal in a perfectly nice restaurant, would walk you home and wouldn't even try to touch you up, because it's so bloody nice and polite.
North Lincolnshire is Philip Larkin and This Is England and sausage rolls and trainers. It's not wearing a coat on a night out in December. Scunthorpe would pick you up in its Ford Fiesta, stop off at the chippy, drive you to the river, then tip back your seat – and it would definitely try its luck.North Lincolnshire is Philip Larkin and This Is England and sausage rolls and trainers. It's not wearing a coat on a night out in December. Scunthorpe would pick you up in its Ford Fiesta, stop off at the chippy, drive you to the river, then tip back your seat – and it would definitely try its luck.
It's taken me a long time to realise it, but it turns out I really fancy Scunthorpe after all.It's taken me a long time to realise it, but it turns out I really fancy Scunthorpe after all.
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