Northern girls - a hard act to follow

Liverpool girls are fashionable, brazen, sharp-edged and hard to the core. I should know, I used to be one. Then i moved south and softened a little.

This difference struck me as quite apparent the other day when i called my mum for a girly catchup session. She's a tough chick through and through and i wonder sometimes where she gets her strength from, but i also wonder at her lack of compassion, You see i'm getting over this guy and i was quite upset, and all i wanted or needed was a little empathy and a few hugs.

So she listens to me blub on about how he hurt me and how hurt i was feeling for about ten minutes, not saying a word. Then when i've finished sobbing my heart out, she tuts loudly and says "I wish i'd have been there. I would have slapped some sense into you. Crying over a boy. I'm ashamed to call you my daughter!"

Ok. Major switch of gears on my part. I tactfully stifle my tears until they are barely glistening on my cheek and brush off the impact of this guy on my poor heart, and my mother's last retort with a bit of indifference. I should know by now not to drown my sorrows with her as my companion. She just doesn't give an inch with that kind of emotion. Its like she doesn't know how to get upset unless its unresolved anger - the sort that causes family feuds and wars with the neighbours. My mother doesn't cry easily. Shes the type of person who won't allow herself to waste tears on anyone... god forbid a man.

My friend, also from Liverpool, was quick to paint her mother with the same brush. Its like up north, because its colder or something, the women are less forgiving and not so full of mush. They are proud of being brassier and bolder. They won't hesitate to make crass comments or reduce a man to tears. Its a scary place for a guy i can imagine... thats why they all marry so young.

And so where does that leave me? I was born there and was every bit a northen bird until i moved south almost ten years ago. South. Where all the women are sweeter and softer, and the mothers collect china dolls and knit doilies. Deep down i still have that desire to be a touch cookie. When i get pushed to the edge i start to sharpen my tongue and click my heels with impatience. But its like i've taken a few sugar pills. I'm more understanding and tolerant. I'm more giggly and weepy. Only i can't decide which part (hard or soft) is the outer shell or the centre, and which part is the real me.

The funny thing is, when i start to talk in my native scouse accent... i feel like i'm hard as nails, and no-one, especially a guy, should mess with me.