Why it's bostin to be a Black Country mon

I was born in Wolverhampton.

Only at the hospital mind, never actually lived there. And the four-and-a-half decades that followed have been spent almost exclusively in the Dudley area, first in Tipton, but mostly in Sedgley. Yet my birth certificate still leaves me a little in awe of those very special people whose Black Country credentials are stronger than mine.

Of course, some of you will now be choking on your Banks's and yelling: "Doh tork saft, mon! Wolvo's in the Black Country 'n' all!" – to which I will politely disagree, on geological grounds. But the fact we're having this debate at all demonstrates one thing on which we can all concur: the Black Country is a fantastic place that we all want to be part of.

After years of living in the shadow of Birmingham, it is about time the Black Country started asserting itself. We don't need to cling to the coat tails of "little London" up the road. The Black Country was a major economic and cultural powerhouse when Brum was still a sleepy little backwater.

The Black Country gave the world the first steam engine, as well as the modern iron and steel industry on which the Industrial Revolution was founded. And we led the world in just about everything. Locks from Willenhall, glassware from Kingswinford, Brierley Hill, Wordsley and Amblecote. Pork scratchings from Tipton.

Are you a child of the 60s? Well that Dansette record player that introduced you to The Beatles, the Stones or The Kinks probably had a turntable made at the BSR works in Cradley Heath. And we all know that the greatest glam rock band in the world comes from Bilston. Did you have a Helix geometry set as a child? Of course you did, and it was made in Lye. And while you probably haven't given much though about where your toilet cistern was made, I will make a fairly confident prediction – almost certainly at the Dauntless Works in Dudley.

And the other remarkable thing about the Black Country is the way it bounces back in the face of adversity. Take the fantastic canal network, which turbocharged the area's economy during the 18th and 19th century. By the 1960s, they were little used and falling into a state of disrepair, but voluntary groups such as the Dudley Canal Trust ­– often in the face of stiff opposition from the authorities ­– rejuvenated them as wonderful leisure attractions. Or how about Baggeridge Colliery? Once reputed to be the biggest coal pit in the world, it has been reinvented as a superb country park, the idyllic place to spend a few hours on a sunny day. And if that's not your thing, there's also the Sandwell Valley, Sedgley Beacon, Bumble Hole, the Rowley Hills.

And that's another thing that makes the Black Country special, there is a bit of everything. Certainly, some of our town centres are in dire need of regeneration – not that we have a monopoly on that – but the area is neither stiflingly built up like Birmingham or London, nor remote and isolated like some parts of rural Britain. You can do your shopping one moment, and then 10 minutes later you can be enjoying a picnic in the woods. Try doing that in London.

Of course, like anywhere in blighty, the weather can't be guaranteed. But when it does "look a bit black over Bill's mother's", you can always take refuge in our wonderful hostelries, which sell the best beers in the world.

Which brings me to a scene which for me defines the essence of the Black Country. About nine years ago, while tucking into a hearty dinner at Mad O'Rourke's Pie Factory, I looked up towards the bar, and noticed a smartly dressed businessman, all sharp suit and shiny shoes. And there he was, having a whale of a time with a group of workmen still in their oily overalls. They were laughing, joking, and downing pints of Lumphammer together.

Leave the discussions about class and diversity to the London elite, it's nowt to do with us. Round here there is no such thing as diversity because we know that whatever our background, we are really all the same. We'm Black Country, and that's all that matters.

Bostin, ay it?