Small doss pit shat out between Newcastle and Carlisle, accents like they have a scrotum for a throat (see Northumbrian burr) and faces like melted
wellies. These congenitals can be found frequently wearing tweed flat caps by day looking for a pheasanty feast or a cow to buck but be warned because when darkness strikes the streets are lined with the north face Hexham chav brigade who feast on human ears,
amber leaf and
dark fruits. A town where hunting, racism and voting Tory is still very much the rage and announcing that you're not local is most certainly not.
'Areet, Are you from Hexham mate?' Nu, aye it's a muckle, baari place t
caal yem man' where's
thoo from? 'I have ne idea what you just said mate, i'm from Newcastle'
