“Nice” is a boring word. Wellingborough is weird. It’s alive. It’s like a mismatched sock that’s incredibly comfortable. You don’t wear it to a date, but you love it on a lazy Sunday.
If you want hipster cafes and chic boutiques, go to Brighton. If you want a place where a fake castle, a parrot cyclist, and 40 curry houses coexist, Welly is your town.
It’s affordable. It’s odd. It’s got green spaces and a surprisingly good railway link. And every time you say “I live in Wellingborough,” someone will giggle and say, “Like the boot?” That never gets old.
So, is it nice? No. It’s better. It’s memorable. Come for the cheap rent, stay for the curry and the absurdity. Just bring an umbrella. And wellies.
