Derby is not a shithole, it’s the glorious epicentre of the UK

If you put one finger on the Isle of Man and one finger on the Isle of Wight and join them up you get to Derby. Thats just one of our claims to fame here in Derbados, but we have many more quirky aspects to the most midland city of the UK, so have a read, duck!

The classic Derbarian is a unique soul who prides themselves on the fact their whole family works for rolls royce in some way or another and they saw a pissed Jack O’Connell in Walkabout before he moved to L.A, but what else makes Derbados so special?

Everyone calls you ‘duck’

After moving away to university I soon realised that I missed the, quirks that Derbados has to offer. When I return from uni I always feel comfort in being called “duck” by every shop assistant ever. Just like “love” or “mate”, “duck” is basically how we end our sentences in Derby. As soon as I hear “ticket machine’s broken, duck” at the train station, I know I’m home.

Pre drinks are at Spoons, but which one?

Nights out in Derby are a well-rehearsed routine. Pre drinks is always at spoons: Thomas Leaper is the girls choice whilst the lads want go to Standing Order. We arrange to meet up afterwards, but even though they’re literally next door, the lads will never be seen again. That is of course until we’re getting a greasy pizza from Mama Jane’s whilst we wait for Albatross taxis.

New Look in Westfield was the place to be aged 13

13 is a confusing age, but one thing the Derby youths of 2009 could be sure of is that the New Look in town was the place to be for a photoshoot. On a Sunday evening when all the weekend fun is over we’d upload pictures from our LG Cookie of us and our “BMAs” (Best Mates Always) to Bebo, having a cheeky rest on the stairs of New Look just to let everyone else know how much fun we were having.

Everyone took pictures in the big mirrors

Sometimes groups of 10 or 12 would huddle up but other times it was just a select few stopping for a snap before heading to get a KFC from the foodcourt and cause havoc for the Westfield staff. Unsurprisingly, the New Look photo craze never continued after we grew out of it. Boy are the youths of today missing out.

Darley Park Concert is the most cultured we get

Once a year the social classes put their differences aside and rejoice to the sound of Symphony Viva and Andy Miller of local radio fame at Darley Park Concert. The civilised affair begins late afternoon, with the keen ones arriving about 3pm. These are the people who get there in plenty of time, choose a spot half way up Darley Park Hill and set up camp with their proper tables, camping chairs, plastic champagne flutes, lanterns etc.

Then they start to get their picnic out, which is guaranteed to include a pesto focaccia, chorizo sausage rolls and falafel scotch eggs. These families have the Darley Park Concert down to a tee, unlike mine, who bring a couple of cool boxes with a home made meal deal in and a picnic blanket. The further up the hill you go, the less civilised it becomes. Families turn into groups of friends, picnics are replaced with cider and camping chairs are replaced with, well, grass.

One thing which is the same for everyone though is the amazing fireworks at the end. In true British fashion, we get up, have a singalong to Land of Hope and Glory and wave our plastic Union Jack flags whilst the fireworks mark the end of a Derby tradition and the end of summer.

Everyone has been to Y NOT festival

“You going Y NOT this year?” is one of the most asked questions between the young Derbarians of today. In the last weekend of July people descend on the Derbyshire countryside to enjoy four days of freedom away from normal life. Although, it pretty much is normal life because you’re more than likely to go with your mates you went to school with and camp next to the rest of your GCSE science class that you haven’t spoken to for three years.

The reason why people say it takes 20 minutes to walk to the main arena isn’t because its far away – its because you’re constantly having to stop and have awkward chats with Jack, your mum’s colleague’s son, or Laura, the girl who tries to be friends with everyone in school. When you do get to the main arena it won’t be long until you start to see the kids who were two years below you at primary school gurning their jaws off and you feel a bit of your childhood just died. But you put that all behind you, enjoy the ever-improving line-up and have a group pic by the YNOT sign.

So all in all, Derbados is quite a unique place. Derby offers hometown pride, some big mirrors we love to take pictures in during the most awkward stage of human life and a big park so we can enjoy a civilised evening of classical music, humous and cider. Whats even better about Derby is that we have the option to swap the classical music for some guitars, ditch the humous all together and just double up on cider if we want to escape from it all and head to a festival which is right on our doorstep.

So for all the people of Derby may moan about our city, its our city. We’re allowed to moan about it, but believe you me, if you talk bad about our Rolls Royce-fuelled city then jog on, duck.