scunnie

About 4.3 minutes ago, I found out that I'm going to Scunthorpe.

Well shit on my chest and call me Clayton.

The Dove and I have been jabbering on about Scunthorpe for the duration of us being friends. Which is a long time.

And now, as luck would have it, I'll actuallybe going there. For work.
I bitch sometimes that mine is the least glamorous job on my team. Well this clearly proves me wrong - I mean why go to Cannes when you can go to Scunthorpe?

(No seriously, half my team goes to Cannes.)

It's a town in The North. Filled with steelworkers and the types of people who like wear polyurethane while drinking in a basement listening to donk. When you search for pictures of Scunthorpe, the top hits are logos of mining unions.

Put it this way, it's not a tourist destination.

It's juxtaposed between a place called Grimsby and another notorious town call Hull Hell. Scunthorpe kind of sounds like a growth. Or a thing. Or maybe even a pile.
So if the sound of a name is anything to go by, don't book a holiday here.

Scunthorpe, however, is very special to me and The Dove though.

When something's as boring as fuck, we say "It was as boring as Scunthorpe on a wet day when the pub is closed."

It's just our thing. I've referenced Scunthorpe about 10 times since having this blog, and now I actually have to fucking go there.

It's just for this very reason I am so excited to be going to this amazing little shit hole Oop Norff.

Just a pity the Dove can't be there and have a pint in the pub with me while it's raining.

PS: The Dove: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
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China. Fuck. I can't believe it.

Why in the name of balls are you going there?