Foursquare finds Manchester is the F*@king rudest city

 

So Manchester is the rudest city in the world eh?

 

F*@k off!

Location-based social network gadget gizmo thingy Foursquare has imported a load of numbers into some big fat virtual online calculator and out of the end came a screaming foul mouthed Mancunian.

According to Foursquare’s engineering blog, Manchester folk are the most like to swear when checking-in at their chosen destination (i.e. the pub).

Foursquare says: “It’s good to see that the Mancunians truly are not only the rudest people in the UK, but the rudest people globally, only El Paso comes close.”

So every other sh*t city in the world – you must try harder.

What is a 'Manc'?

During my recent research into Manchester and its culture, I came across this useful definition of what a ‘Manc’ is, courtesy of Urban Dictionary:

Manc
Mancunian - Inhabitant of the city of Manchester, Northern England. Unfairly stereotyped as wearing kappa trackies (all chavs wear em, not just Manc chavs), stealing, being gangmembers and acting like Liam Gallagher or as though they're straight out of the cast of Shameless. ALL stereotypes are UNTRUE.

Manchester is the main city in the North and is the 3rd largest city in England. It is the birthplace of Socialism/Communism; many famous people such as Alan Turing, who designed the first electronic computer at the University of Manchester, are Mancunians.

They don't rob everything in sight like scousers. Most peadophiles are from the south and Shipman was from Hyde which is in Tameside, not Manchester. In general, the best kind of people.

Examples of Manc speech:

-I hate them smackhead emos round Urbis.

-Some scouser scallies tried to rob me but I kicked em back down the east lancs, sorted.

-Dead right mate.

So, there you go.

Ian Brown Vs Parklife ROUND ONE: The Mancunian Stereotype

If you passed by Platt Fields Park this weekend, no doubt you would have been witness to many a Ian Brown wannabe or many a student so drunk he couldn’t cope with the British legacy that is queuing.

On 11th and 12th June, the people who brought you the Warehouse Project (a fantastic and much needed – if not slightly overpriced – set of club nights in Manchester, which started off in the disused Boddingtons Brewery in 2006 and now takes place under Piccadilly Station for the Autumn/Winter clubbing and gigging season) put on a jolly good show in Fallowfield consisting on the Friday of headliner Ian Brown, supported by the likes of tried ‘n’ tested Mr Scruff and a tent sponsored by old school Hacienda peeps. Then on the Saturday, an array of dance and electro acts supported main band Friendly Fires for the ‘Parklife’ leg of the weekend. (And yes, it’s already been pointed out that the organisers named this day-long festival after a BLUR song *shock horror* when we all know that Blur and Oasis had a hand-bags-at-dawn-fall-out during the Britpop period. But, get over it. The event was set in a park. And there were people there. Many people were living life in the park for the day and best part of the night. Therefore, Parklife was a more than suitable name for the shindig. Yes? Yes.).

So, round one – Ian Brown. After only a couple of pints, I thought I was seeing double. Then I thought I was seeing quadruple. Then I thought I was seeing zillionuple. Who, or what, were these people dressed in the same uniform, talking the same talk and walking the exact same walk (not to mention choreographed dance moves)? Dear lord, I had entered the church of Ian Brown.

Prior to the event, I had been told (warned?) that: “Seeing Ian Brown in Manchester is like a religious gathering. Enjoy.” Hmmm. I wasn’t sure if I was a fan of religion. Nor that much of Mr Brown (sorry). So what was I – and the other few thousand who all looked remarkably like the man they all had come to see (standard shaggy bowl haircut, trenchcoat, swagger and gurn) – in store for?

Disappointingly, a few of the main stage acts seemed to have cancelled (Scratch Perverts and Mike Pickering were nowhere to be seen, which got me and my £3 programme completely in a tizz), but when in doubt, go see your friend Mr Scruff. Great beard, tasty tea and move-your-ass DJ sets – what’s not to like? Spinning his plastic in one of the smaller tents, Mr Scruff (aka Mr Andy Carthy) performed a funky soulful set which got the entire crowd shaking their hips, waving their arms, smiling slightly idiotically and hugging random strangers. Beautiful.

More mooching (and beer) was to be had after Mr Scruff. This quickly turned into a game of “who is the biggest Ian Brown wannabe/Manc cliché?” Then suddenly (and I mean suddenly – where had the Mike Pickering set on the main stage gone???) Mr Monkey Man himself came swaggering on to the stage. The crowd’s ears, nose and skin pricked up as it sensed its Messiah summoning it.

Mr Brown kicked off with Stone Roses classic “I Wanna Be Adored”. Out of tune? Yes. Cocky bastard? Oh yes. Sing-a-long crowd pleaser? Absolutely. Ian Brown played a belter of a set, ranging from early Stone Roses through to his more recent stuff. And if I had been a believer, rather than an atheist, I’m sure I would have seen some sort of light when he played F.E.A.R (everyone else in the crowd, with their arms held high, seemed to). All in all, I really enjoyed Ian Brown. It was completely what I expected – but enjoyable nonetheless. And a major factor of that was the crowd. The atmosphere was Manc and proud. I left Platt Fields Park with a swagger in my stride and a smile on my face.

Round 2 – Parklife… to be continued…