Cheer up, you could be in Kabul (From Bradford Telegraph and Argus)

Cheer up, you could be in Kabul

12:45pm Monday 23rd April 2007

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I got nabbed today in Town by a sterling example of a RGP (Random Grumpy Person).

I appear to have a memorable appearance (ahem) and so am regularly accosted by RGPs who want to tell me that I know nothing, absolutely nothing (I'll say that again because, trust me, they always do - nothing) about Bradford.

If I did, you see, I'd know it was a complete ***t-hole. Like, a total dump. I am completely deluded, it would seem; proof of this diagnosis being that they have heard, or read, that I sometimes make laughably insane remarks about Bradford being beautiful, or fascinating, or fun.

Now, the RGP will say sagely, sucking its teeth and (if female) bridling, comments like that only prove I'm radged. Only a mad person could look at Bradford and find anything whatsoever positive about it.

Why, look at the shops! Dreadful - no better than anyone else's! Look at the city-centre - being rebuilt and a right mess! And the riots - non-stop! Decent folk are terrified to set foot in Town lest they be trampled underfoot by vast hordes of ravening youths brandishing Molotovs and baying for blood.

Crime is rampant, drugs are everywhere, the Police are a sham, the Council a tottering facade masking Dreadful Machinations and the buses smell. All this is then topped off by a rancid garnish of knee-jerk racism and a soupcon of concentrated bitterness. I sigh, having, as the old saw goes, heard it all before.

The RGP then smiles sourly, looking not unlike (as an old biker pal of mine says, but in a much more colourful way) a bulldog licking urine off a thistle. Right, says the RPG defiantly, tell me I'm a liar, eh? Eh? Yer Can't can yer? Hah. Gotcha.

I look the RGP in the eye. Righto, I muse. Let's start at the beginning. Bradford is not a ****-hole. It is a small, rather beautiful city in the North of England characterised by exquisite Victorian architecture which features deep-cut stone carving unequalled in Europe.

Set as it is in a deep-sided valley, we are treated daily to a vaulting sky-scape providing the city's inhabitants with a gloriously illuminated backdrop that brings out the gorgeous amber tones of the gracious old sandstone buildings.

We have a brilliantly diverse population bringing to our community a cosmopolitan and global vibe that puts less interesting and more narrow towns to shame. Our restaurants are nationally famous.

Great music, literature and art has been, and is created here that travels all over the world to huge acclaim. Traditional Bradfordian values of honesty, tolerance and plain-speaking coupled with a dry, droll humour make living in the city a joy.

I love Bradford. It's fabulous. You could be a poor person living in a favela in Sao Paulo, or a bombed out wreck of a home in Iraq or Afghanistan; you could live in a civil-war zone tyrannised by outlaw militias or in grinding poverty in Africa.

Instead, RGP, you are living in a wealthy western country where your slightest whim in terms of food, clothing and entertainment is easily gratified. You have access to free healthcare in a modern hospital. You have clean, drinkable water on tap and your children have the benefit of an education. You are spoilt beyond the wildest dreams of millions of people whose daily life is one of pain, deprivation, suffering and terror.

Of course, Bradford has its problems and difficulties but by comparison to the examples I cite, this city, my friend, is a Paradise on Earth. And don't forget, RGP, every single time you whinge on about how 'awful' Bradford is, you burden our youth with an extra weight of low self-esteem that they can well do without, given the prejudice against our city that exists in the national media - a media who's vitriolic mis-representations you have so obviously fallen for.

At this point the RGP starts spluttering and brings out its coup de grace - ah, aha - but you weren't born here, were you? You're not not a proper Bradfordian so what do you know? Well, I reply, I was born in Colchester Barracks, true. I spend my youth in Harrogate where I was privately educated. I came to Bradford about 30 years ago, of my own free will, like so many others. I'm very proud of the city. In other words, you Random Grumpy Person, I live here because I choose to. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Exit RPG, muttering curses. I get the bus home. The bus does in fact smell, but I don't care. It's sunset, and the city glows like burnished gold.

It's my home.