Stockport Isn’t Sh*t

“Where are you from?”

“Stockport.”

Sharp intake of breath… “Unlucky. I suppose someone has to be.”

“That’s a bit rich coming from a Scouser…”

And so began my uneasy relationship with Ken. To be fair, he had a point.

G rowing up in the South Manchester mill town whose industrial revolution wealth came from the high-quality silk produced in its ‘dark Satanic mills’, and whose town centre air had a permanent whiff of sour hops billowing from Fred Robinson’s brewery, I loved grow...