The very name strikes fear into the hardiest of people. Situated in the heart of darkest Lanarkshire, Motherwell is to `must see` towns as Rose West is to the good parenting guide.
The town is best described as “Grey”. This doesn`t just describe the buildings and streets, but the people as well.
The town itself is merely an L-shaped shopping precinct with about 50 shops, most of which go bust very quickly and get replaced.
This sparkling centre is surrounded by a ring road that the council like to keep interesting for drivers by chopping and changing it from a one way system one week and dual carriageway the next. Watching unwary drivers being forced to readapt to their new surroundings at the last minute makes for the only entertainment that the locals have (apart from standing at the cross watching drunken patrons from The Tavern and Horseshoe bars battle after a Rangers v Celtic game).
If you are over 65 or are a woman, then there is an abundance of clubs and bingo halls to attend. If you are not an elderly woman however, forget it. Motherwell boasts no cinemas, no swimming baths, no snooker/pool halls, no theatres, no restuarants (McDonalds excepted) and nothing that even comes close to fun, unless you include the red light area known as Strathclyde Park.
This town was known as “Ghost Town” by the CB radio enthusiasts for a very good reason. This however, is paradise compared to the housing estates in the area such as the beautiful Forgewood where the local shop has barbed wire on the roof and permanent metal shutters (complete with racist graffitti) and a crime rate higher per head than New York.
If that doesn`t tickle your fancy, try exotic Craigneuk where hand grenade attacks and drive by shootings are de rigeur.
There is a civic centre here, where the Regal Masters used to be played . . . um, and the Krankies performed there when I was about six . . . err, hey, there’s even an annual beer festival . . . who says there’s nothing to do?!
The ned population is basically the same as every schemie area in Lanarkshire, and as I live on a main road, I can experience the pleasure of their cheery folk humour and rambunctious behaviour every night. Only two stabbings outside my house this week – perhaps the local off-licences have had a Buckie shortage?
If you have career aspirations above being a hairdresser or temporary shop assistant, don’t come to Motherwell. People with mullets, minging huge-breasted old women with no bras, and anyone who enjoys being verbally abused by complete strangers will find they fit in a treat here. If this sounds like you, please buy my house . . . I’m moving to Hull . . .