Bridging the Watford Gap

Whenever I mention to people that I attend UCLAN, the most common response I get - aside from the obvious "What on Earth does 'UCLAN' stand for?" - is: "Why did you move so far north?" To which I can only respond with the: "It's become too much/the crime is getting way out of hand/you don't know what my parents are like/delete as appropriate" diatribe. None of those possible answers factored into my choice, at least not significantly, but it is convenient, and in some ways quite cathartic, to damn any notion of a life pre-university, especially when most people I'm forced to interact with loathe my city, as the pauper does the king.

My reasons for moving to Preston were actually much more optimistic. Far from 'hating my parents', or 'fearing for my middle-class behind on the deadly streetz of Lundin, doe, init?', I decided to come here because I loved northerners and everything to do with the north at the time, or at least television made me think I did. Arthur Scargill, Oasis, Hale and Pace, flatcaps, whippets, Nora Batty, pies, and of course that indelible altruistic ethos: love thy neighbour; the north represented an untapped spring of opportunity for me, one where I could communicate with a complete and total stranger without being looked at as if I were some goon hired to collect money on behalf of the Aryan League of Nations.

Of course, my illusions have been shattered slightly since. Don't get me wrong, that pleasant, altruistic ethos does exist up here; in London a lack of thanks for a door held open for someone is a formality, here it is a sacriligious affront. But there is something very sinister lurking under this welcoming facade; something a bit more offensive than 'bad manners'. Racism and homophobia seem to be prevalent in certain sections of the university as well as the city.

This does not apply to all northerners of course - indeed people from major cities such as Manchester, Birmingham and Liverpool have been the more tolerant I've noticed, having come from areas that actively embrace multiculturalism - but the prejudice I've witnessed here, however casual, has been disconcerting to say the least. Last year, during fresher's week, I got into an arguement with someone at a flat party over his use of the phrase 'Paki mart' when describing our local newsagents. His rationale was that as 'Paki' is just an abbreviation of the correct description 'Pakistani', there is no possible way it can be offensive: "It's just easier to say, though, isn't it? There's nowt racist about it." Weirdly, the same bloke later told me he'd never use the "N" word when referring to black people. "Why not?", I thought to myself mockingly, "It's only two syllables long."

I cannot relate to these kind of people. Our lifestyles contrast so differently we could be from different planets, never mind different cities. They are tanned when it's winter, wear pink shirts, dye their hair bleach blond, put on too much aftershave, and work out excessively; in addition to this they are materialistic to the point where money supercedes happiness and morality. It is the ultimate suburban ethos. This would not be so bad had they the ability to self-deprecate, to recognise irony and laugh at themselves, but they don't; they are vain, rigid and socially simple. And that isn't an exagerration: going to clubs in Preston is like attending an N*Sync concert at the Reichstag building; all blond and blue-eyed and waving their hands at the DJ Fuhrer in front of the dance floor.

But this is not to say I regret my choice. Beyond the valley of the automatons lies a rich, diverse collection of individuals who can think for themselves, form opinions on important subjects, are open-minded and take an interest in things beyond their own provincial bubble. They are the true northerners; those that have the ghost as well as the shell, the true beauty beneath the make-up. I hope to meet more of these people, and I have no doubt that I will in the next two years.

They have that Northern Soul, I tell thee.