h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Ah, many a happy hour down the pub spent winding up people by shouting that special phrase; "What's it called?"
The answer is, of course, unless I am in totally the wrong forum, Cumbernauld. The line coming from a very poor advertising campaign some years ago to try and encourage business into the area.
"What's it called?
Pile of Pants!"
also works quite well I find.

Oo...scathing remarks there. Living in Cumbernauld I probably should try and stick up for it....eh.....wait....nah....we've got peat bogs?
Ok so it is quite pants but I live there so don't dis it. And if I ever hear that annoying catch phrase one more time.....

Oddly enough, this impromptu negativity has made me want to go to Cumbernauld. I love seeing places that have a negative reputation as they can't get any worse and they are often little gems that nobody has discovered. Mind you, they are sometimes sh**holes.
Can I get a train to Cumbernauld?

You can get a train to Cumbernauld from Glasgow Queen Street, tho quite why you would want to defeats me. For a laugh, get on the Croy train instead. As you walk out of Croy station you have the delights of the misplaced city housing estate called Croy on your left and the sprawling mass of Cumbernauld on your right. It is at this point the wise just shake their heads and get back on the train. The foolish are left with two options, left or right

LEFT. Croy beckons, admire the architecture of the houses and smashed up shops as you walk for 20 minutes to the Croy Tavern. Once inside this establishment, an artistic gem beckons. Be sure and visit the toilets to admire the green and white horizontal striped tiling, before returning to the bar to initiate a debate on why you think Rangers are by far the best team in Scotland. This tactic will ensure a swift return to Glasgow, as it's Southern General Hospital specialises in head injuries.

RIGHT. Don't go right. Backpackers have been known to wander lost for weeks in Cumbernauld, before succumbing to footrot. It's designed for cars, not people, and woe betide anyone who should try venturing forth without one. You've heard of people crossing the Antarctic on foot, but you've never heard of anyone crossing Cumbernauld in the same manner have you? Quite simply, it has never been accomplished. Bored? Try a pub crawl in Cumbernauld, the world's fittest people have occasionally managed the feat of having two drinks per day.

Have just punched Croy into Multimap and the closest areas shown are Twechar, Balloch and Condorrat, which all sound suspiciously like torture techniques employed on English visitors.
Still, Scotland-wise I've only ever been to the BBC building in Glasgow, so a little "local colour" wouldn't go amiss (even if I have to say that Celtic have always been my favourite Scottish team, honest).

Woo hoo condorrat- that's where I abode. And no it's not a some sort of torture term, but living there is. The place is so infested with neds (the tough acting, jewellery wearing, slang talking, track suit loving, socks over the trouser fanatical eejits, usually named Shantell or Davey.) Maybe one day I'll leave.

God I hope it's soon.

Run, Run for the hills. No not those hills the other ones , far away...

Oh God. My Dad lives there and I agree to see him only on the terms that we meet in Stirling or Glasgow so I don't have to EVER go back to what must be a strong competitor for the armpit of Scotland.

Okay, so Condorrat and Cumbernauld are concrete wastelands, but it's the people that make a place. Living here in Condorrat most of my life, I've met some characters, good and bluddy awful, and seen some sights, good and hysterical. If you get to know the place, you start to appreciate the peculiar spirit it has...and I'm not just talking about the inbreeders from the village.

Oops.

Notice that I couldn't even try to defend Cumbernauld.