Security is really lax at the Superdry shop and you can pretty much nick all you can carry without anyone noticing a thing. Only problem is you end up with a load of Superdry clothes no one wants to buy. Also, birthplace of Shakespeare. Think he was born where the car park bogs are now.
2. The Angel Of The North
This is the nickname for me girlfriend Dawny: coz she’s me precious angel and she’s from the north. Plus she’s a big lass and every year at least three motorists crash on the A1 because they’re distracted by her. We really need to find a better lay-by for dogging.
Picturesque town on the Thames with a lovely old bridge perfect for chucking shopping trolleys off of. Famous for being the birthplace of that amazing comedy creation from the 90s: Bobby Davro.
4. London Eye
I’m not going to tell you how to spend your money, but this is a ferris wheel that costs 21 quid a spin.
Let’s be honest, this is a load of stupid stones, bloody miles from anywhere, and most of them have fallen over anyway – it’s basically the Rotherham of the south. I know, I know, they’re really important and old and all that blah blah blah – coz in the olden days the Ku Klux Klan used to use them as goalposts or whatever. Still, the gift shop is alright. Three stars.
6. Hampton Court Palace
Home of Henry VIII. Henry was married six times, had three kids from them and at least another seven illegitimate ones. What a lad. “Divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived” is a handy way of remembering what happened to that pop band the Sugababes.
In 1823, William Webb-Ellis was playing a game of football at school and picked up the ball – inventing the game of rugby. If I was there, I would have ripped his head off. That would teach him right for cheating, and would have stopped anyone else finding out about rugby, which is basically a game posh blokes invented so they could touch each other up in public.
8. Edinburgh Festival
A load of students from London spend a fortune going up to Edinburgh to put on wanky plays and crappy improvised musical comedy. Then a bunch of adults from London spend a fortune going to Edinburgh to watch their wanky plays and crappy improvised musical comedy. I’m no expert but I think I’ve spotted a way for everyone to save a lot of money.
Top place and well worth a visit now the IRA have stopped fighting for it to become part of England.
10. Buckingham Palace
Biggest council house in the UK, full of a bunch of friggin’ legends who’ve totally nailed living off the state. I’m a big fan of the crazy one who likes wearing the Nazi uniform.
Nando’s opened their first UK restaurant in Ealing in 1992. There are now more than 300 branches across the country, and the phrase “Cheeky Nando’s” has entered our language, meaning “I am a total knob”.
12. Alton Towers
If you love an exciting theme park then this is the place for you. One of my favourite songs was written about this place: “You’re going home in a fucking ambulance.” You can’t beat the thrill of knowing that at any moment it could go tits up – gives the place a massive buzz.
13. Eden Project
A bunch of massive greenhouses where the perfect combination of temperature and humidity means scientists are able to grow enormous plants. Imagine what they could achieve once they stop with this bull and finally get on with growing some weed.
A special country for ginger folk located 300 miles above England’s northern border. Its main exports are whisky, haggis and heart transplant patients.
15. Whipsnade Zoo
What is the point? Basically a posh farm. If want to experience an unusual, unidentifiable animal I just order a large doner.
16. Stephen Fry
All right, we get it – you’re more cleverer than everyone. Stop banging on about it, and get off my fucking telly.
Isn’t it weird how when Andy Murray loses a match he’s Scottish and when he wins a match I couldn’t give less of a shit?
18. Bricklayers Arms, Grimsby
I broke up a fight between my girlfriend and some junkie in the beer garden last year. Turns out it’s not only rottweilers you can stop biting by sticking a finger up their arse. I’m like the Malala of Grimsby. Where’s my Nobel prize?
Courtesy of The Guardian