Things you’ll know if you grew up in Lincolnshire
We’re more than just Steep Hill and Skegness
We’re not as vocal about our home county like our neighbours. Nobody hails it as “God’s own country” (though we know it’s prettier). Nobody chants “Lincolnshire” at festivals, or gets “Yellow Belly” tattooed on their arm.
People think Lincolnshire is a bit of a no-man’s land. Rural, populated by country bumpkins, a bit rough around the edges. But at the same time it’s unlike anywhere else in the world. We’ve got a lot to be proud of and a distinctive identity. Growing up in Lincolnshire was certainly an experience.
You always say you’re from “near” somewhere
There’s really only one city in Lincolnshire, so the further away you get the more vague you have to be about where you’re from. Most of us come from mid-range market towns and little villages with weird names. Say you’re from “near Boston” and outsiders will ask what happened to the American accent.
Everyone is from “near Lincoln” or “near Nottingham” because it’s a safe bet nobody will question you.
You know someone who has a car as their Facebook profile picture
The less said about this the better.
Your accent is strangely hard to place
You won’t hear many young people calling each other “duck” and greeting one another with “now then”. That’s more for our grandparents and the kids of farmers.
In reality the Lincolnshire accent of today is a pretty confused one. A lot of us tend to sound southern but don’t drop our “r’s”. There’s aren’t many rural accents on TV, so we’ve got a bit of an identity crisis.
You know where Bitchfield is
Special shout out if you’ve been to Fanny Hands Lane in Market Rasen or Spital-in-the-Street.
You do like a drink
Ok so this could be said for anyone, but there’s something about being deprived of good clubs, underage drinking in low-ceilinged village pubs or remote fields which really makes you appreciate what you’ve got.
It’s as if Lincolnshire pubs have a strict list of names they’re forced to stick to, always following the format of a colour then an inoffensive animal.
When the highlight of your weekend was popping into pub like ‘The Blue Pig’, ‘The White Hart’ or ‘The Red Lion’ then you can say you’ve truly lived. By which I mean if someone from Lincolnshire heads to a big city for university, they’ll be the one pushing for the biggest club nights, and downing their body weight in Sambuca.
You know at least one person who has a horse
They’re probably called Florence.
Campouts were the best place to underage drink
You’ve spend night after night in a field getting tipsy off Taboo, Caribbean Twist and cheap cider. It would start off well, then your mate would be violently sick and some chavs would try and start a fight.
There’s nothing ironic about a Sausage ‘Fest
Some places never, ever have phone signal
That’s just the way it is in the country. The only way to get in touch is over WhatsApp.
You’ve been to Playzone as an adult
Admittedly it’s a big play park, but they open it up for grown-ups sometimes.
This is news
Every hill is a big one
It’s not a stereotype. It really is flat where we’re from. All you can see for miles are fields and water towers.
There is one mountain though…
You’ve nearly tripped over on Steep Hill
Sometimes it’s when you’re sober, carrying your shopping. Sometimes it’s when you’re staggering back from Home or Walkabout at 3am. It happens to everyone.
Look at that incline.
You probably have strong opinions on meat
Everyone’s heard of Lincolnshire sausages, but they genuinely are better than every other kind.
Someone from Lincolnshire can explain the difference between Haslet and Stuffed Chine. They’ve had them both in a sandwich. In certain circles ‘tates’ are a big deal. That’s a potato, not an art gallery.
Skegness was the highlight of your childhood universe
Spending half the day driving there, piling out onto the beach, wasting your pocket money in the arcade and eating down Chip Pan Alley. SkegVegas was paradise.
There’s no big local football team
If you support Lincoln City, Boston United or even Grantham Town then you have my eternal respect. Seriously. The guys who show up week in and week out to watch crunching tackles and stray balls in the National League (or below) are the tragic heroes of our age.
Most of us cheer for Nottingham Forest or just picked a good Premiership team from a sticker book. We wanted an easy life.
You automatically assume everybody can drive
Public transport is practically non-existent along our country roads. If you want to have a social life past the age of 17 then you learn to drive, it’s essential. Approximately three quarters of your time behind the wheel will be spent sat behind a tractor. That’s Lincolnshire.
In London nobody knows how to drive and their licences are all green .What’s the deal with that?