A town with pretensions of being a city. It suffers from being between Manchester and Liverpool and as a consequence has developed a kind hybrid noise of an accent.
Warrington is characterised by lots of angry men all produced from the same mould. Think of the thick-set, no necked, plodding Neanderthal type being from all those ‘development of early man’ charts you used to see on biology/history class walls. Then add a Warrington Wolves rugby league shirt, a couple of tattoos, and a shaved head.
Packs of these early men roam the streets at night after the traditional 10 pints, looking for a fight. The Sunday morning streets look like Belfast after a riot.
The Warrington female is usually in a boob tube/black mini-skirt combo three sizes too small and will wear this right up until she reaches 60.
Outsiders attain a kind of novelty status. They get the same kind of reception Western explorers received when they first encountered tribes in Africa and the Amazon. Here, Cosmopolitan is just a magazine.
The major landmark of the area is the Lever brothers factory right in the centre of town. This giant ugly monolith makes the whole place smell of washing powder… insert your own hygeine/ irony joke – and be assured that it’s probably true.