Crap Towns: We can't fix our problems if we refuse to see them

Editor Sam Jordison says his book is not "an exercise in laughing at neglect" but a tough look at the nasty side of British capitalism written by the victims - for the victims.

A question I’m often asked about my books about Crap Towns is whether I worry that they’re too negative. The glib answer is that I worry they aren’t negative enough. The new book is about the 50 worst places to live in the UK and is primarily intended to make people laugh. What do you expect? It comes both to bury and to slag off places like Banbury, Boston and Bacup with their boarded up high streets, weekend violence and daily boredom. Why not? Are we supposed to pretend that  (to continue mangling Shakespeare) there’s nothing rotten in our state? That these places are making people happy? That to me is far more negative. We’re never going to fix the problems in this country if we refuse to even see them.

Another question I’m frequently asked is whether I’m a smug posh git. It’s probably not for me to answer that except to say that even if I were, it wouldn’t disqualify me from having valid opinions. Bertrand Russell was posh and smug, but also very often right about some pretty important stuff.

But the line that generally follows this accusation worries me more. Recently, for instance, the New Statesman ran an article by Daniel Gray asserting that Crap Towns is “nothing but an exercise in laughing at neglect” and claiming that the book “hides its disdain for ‘lesser’ people in ‘lesser’ places behind its format.”

For a start, Crap Towns isn’t simply about laughing at neglect. Yes, it uses comedy to point out how ridiculous things have become in plenty of places, but humour is a very good way of telling the truth. What’s more, there are plenty of topics besides neglect. It’s an equal opportunities shit-sprayer. Mayfair is just as worthy of contempt as Mansfield, and when you dig down to it, for pretty similar reasons: British capitalism is often cruel and unfair.

Which brings me to the next point. I’ve never believed in “lesser” people, or “lesser” places and I deny that there’s any disdain. Crap Towns is supposed to be on the side of the victims. What’s more it’s generally written by them. The thing I forgot to say about the validity of my own opinion is that it’s immaterial anyway. The book is largely based on information that has been sent to me from within the towns themselves. That’s to say those so-called “lesser people”. There’s no class barrier to inclusion in the book. The only criteria are to land a few home truths and a few good jokes. I’m pretty sure that the commentary on poverty in Bacup comes from someone who knows it well. Just as the hilarious entries about Chipping Norton almost certainly come from people with far bigger cars than I’ll ever drive.

That’s enough of that. I’m confident that anyone who reads Crap Towns Returns will be able to draw their own conclusions about who it speaks for, and whose side it’s on. The New Statesman article came out out before the book was distributed for review and I’m hoping that now Daniel Gray has had a chance to read the book, he’ll have changed his mind. Not least because I emailed him in the aftermath and it turns out we share quite a few of the same opinions. I even ended up buying his own book about Britain. (It’s good!)

But much as I enjoyed corresponding with Daniel, there was one new thing that worried me. He asked what I thought about the damage that inclusion in Crap Towns can do to a place’s reputation. Here, I have to admit I have more qualms. Personally, I’m fascinated by messed up road systems, lame graffiti and ruined buildings. It’s the kind of book I’d want to use as a travel guide. But I can understand why Crap Towns Returns might not be at the front of local tourist information offices.

I do have some defence. I’d question how much damage Crap Towns does. Does it change a town’s reputation - or simply point out an uncomfortable truth? Did anyone think Hull was a paradise before the first book came out? Will anyone read this ten year anniversary volume and think: “Oh, I didn’t know there were billionaire tossers hanging out in Mayfair.” I doubt it.

To go back to Hull, what Crap Towns did was give voice to a truth that was widely known, even if few people had articulated it and broadcast it before. I don’t want to take things too far. Obviously it’s the kind of book people enjoy reading in the smallest room and it is intended primarily to make people laugh. It’s also a pretty blunt instrument. But plenty of people from places I’ve revisited in the last ten years have given that first book some credit in getting people moving - even if its primary method was to annoy them so much they wanted to prove it wrong. There are five towns in the back of this new volume that have changed for the better since they featured in Crap Towns first time around. Crap Towns hasn’t held them back. Far from it.

So, I’m prepared to admit that just as the book takes shots at those on the top, it also kicks a few towns when they’re down. But it kicks them in the right direction. And that has to be positive.

Crap Towns Returns by Sam Jordison and Dan Kieran is published by Quercus, out on 10 October (£10)

Not so amusing: Life in a Crap Town. Photograph: Getty Images.
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If the SNP truly want another referendum, the clock is ticking

At party conference in Glasgow, I heard Scotland’s governing party demand a future distinctly different from the one being sketched out in Westminster. 

Nicola Sturgeon described Glasgow as the “dear green city” in her opening address to the SNP party conference, which may surprise anyone raised on a diet of Ken Loach films. In fact, if you’re a fan of faded grandeur and nostalgic parks, there are few places to beat it. My morning walk to conference took me past chipped sandstone tenements, over a bridge across the mysterious, twisting River Kelvin, and through a long avenue of autumnal trees in Kelvingrove Park. In the evenings, the skyline bristled with Victorian Gothic university buildings and church spires, and the hipster bars turned on their lights.

In between these two walks, I heard Scotland’s governing party demand a future distinctly different from the one being sketched out in Westminster. Glasgow’s claim to being the UK’s second city expired long ago but I wonder if, post-Brexit, there might be a case for reviving it.



Scottish politics may never have looked more interesting, but at least one Glasgow taxi driver is already over it. All he hears in the back of his cab is “politics, fitba and religion”, he complained when he picked me up from the station. The message didn’t seem to have reached SNP delegates at the conference centre on the Clyde, who cheered any mention of another referendum.

The First Minister, though, seems to have sensed the nation’s weariness. Support for independence has fallen from 47 per cent in June (Survation) to 39 per cent in October (BMG Research). Sturgeon made headlines with the announcement of a draft referendum bill, but read her speeches carefully and nothing is off the table. SNP politicians made the same demands again and again – devolved control of immigration and access to the single market. None ruled out these happening while remaining in the UK.

If Sturgeon does want a soft Brexit deal, though, she must secure it fast. Most experts agree that it would be far easier for an independent Scotland to inherit Britain’s EU membership than for it to reapply. Once Article 50 is triggered, the SNP will be in a race against the clock.


The hare and the tortoise

If anyone is still in doubt about the SNP’s position, look who won the deputy leadership race. Angus Robertson, the gradualist leader of the party in the Commons, saw off a referendum-minded challenger, Tommy Sheppard, with 52.5 per cent of the vote.

Conference would be nothing without an independence rally, and on the final day supporters gathered for one outside. A stall sold “Indyref 2” T-shirts but the grass-roots members I spoke to were patient, at least for now. William Prowse, resplendent in a kilt and a waistcoat covered in pro-indy
badges, remains supportive of Sturgeon. “The reason she has not called an Indy 2 vote
is we need to have the right numbers,” he told me. “She’s playing the right game.”

Jordi McArthur, a member for 30 years, stood nearby waving a flagpole with the Scottish, Welsh and Catalan flags side by side. “We’re happy to wait until we know what is happening with Brexit,” he said. “But at the same time, we want a referendum. It won’t be Nicola’s choice. It will be the grass roots’ choice.”


No Gerrymandering

Party leaders may come and go, but SNP members can rely on one thing at conference – the stage invasions of the pensioner Gerry Fisher. A legendary dissenter, Fisher refused this year to play along with the party’s embrace of the EU. Clutching the
lectern stubbornly, he told members: “Don’t tell me that you can be independent and a member of the EU. It’s factually rubbish.” In the press room, where conference proceedings were shown unrelentingly on a big screen, hacks stopped what they were doing to cheer him on.


Back to black

No SNP conference would be complete without a glimpse of Mhairi Black, the straight-talking slayer of Douglas Alexander and Westminster’s Baby of the House. She is a celebrity among my millennial friends – a video of her maiden Commons speech has been watched more than 700,000 times – and her relative silence in recent months is making them anxious.

I was determined to track her down, so I set my alarm for an unearthly hour and joined a queue of middle-aged women at an early-morning fringe event. The SNP has taken up the cause of the Waspi (Women Against State Pension Inequality) campaign, run by a group of women born in the 1950s whose retirement age has been delayed and are demanding compensation. Black, who is 22, has become their most ­articulate spokeswoman.

The event started but her chair remained unfilled. When she did arrive, halfway through the session, it was straight from the airport. She gave a rip-roaring speech that momentarily convinced even Waspi sceptics like me, and then dashed off to her next appointment.


Family stories

Woven through the SNP conference was an argument about the benefits of immigration (currently controlled by Westminster). This culminated in an appearance by the Brain family, whose attempt to resist deportation back to Australia has made them a national cause célèbre. (Their young son has learned to speak Gaelic.) Yet for me, the most emotional moment of the conference was when another family, the Chhokars, stepped on stage. Surjit Singh Chhokar was murdered in 1998, but it took 17 years of campaigning and a change in double jeopardy laws before his killer could be brought to justice.

As Aamer Anwar, the family’s solicitor, told the story of “Scotland’s Stephen Lawrence”, Chhokar’s mother and sister stood listening silently, still stricken with grief. After he finished, the delegates gave the family a standing ovation.

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, the New Statesman’s politics blog

Julia Rampen is the editor of The Staggers, The New Statesman's online rolling politics blog. She was previously deputy editor at Mirror Money Online and has worked as a financial journalist for several trade magazines. 

This article first appeared in the 20 October 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Brothers in blood