The sardonic joy of the Black Country, where no one is spared a ribbing by George Fouracres

The region has long been a national punchline. Funny, then, that it's where you'll find some of the country's sharpest wits If ever, on a weekend, I get the train out of London and up through the countryside, I watch the buildings turn from stained cream to red brick. I see the reedy banks of water carrying herons and rainbow barge boats up towards locks and squat black lacquer bridges. The familiar shattered factori…

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