AMERICANS picture Britain as swinging London and quaint little thatched villages. Direct them to these hidden gems and see how they f**king like it:
Position Luton as being to London what Boston is to New York and send Yanks there to enjoy the litter, the air pollution, the position on a flightpath, the town equivalent of a plain ham and no mayo meal deal sandwich. Let them see the misery of ordinary British lives through drizzle. The real us.
Americans already lap up Scottish shit due to Braveheart, so trick them into the depths of Wales to a harbour mentioned in Shakespeare. Promise dragons, legends, and wild Welshmen rapt in song, and instead they’ll witness the glories of post-Thatcher deprivation.
Modern. Ground-breaking. Futuristic. Technically unique, if only in its soullessness. These are words you could use to describe Milton Keynes if you were being held by its mayor at gunpoint. A labyrinth of roundabouts and concealed pedestrian walkways Californians will never escape.
No UK holiday would be complete without a trip to the coast. Tell our English-speaking cousins – accurately – that Blackpool is the quintessential seaside town with piers, illuminations and a famous golf course. They’ll love the boarded-up town of heroin addiction and men fighting seagulls for chips they discover.
It sounds quaint because of its hyphenated name, so why not upsell the city that the Midlands and North-West each try to blame the other for? It might not have Cotswold charm but it’s technically on a river in a place that ends in ‘shire’ so it might as well be Beatrix f**king Potter’s house.