THE North. A terrifying place frequented by stag parties, hen parties, Viking marauders, rabid dogs, drunken Wags and other nightmare-inducing characters that would sooner eat you alive and pimp out your grandmother than share a nice glass of wine over a decent dinner – or so I’m told by herbal tea- drinking types busy worrying about the rainforests while holding on to the monstrous Saturday edition of their favourite newspaper.

These cowardly types would rather we all attended an outdoor workshop building yurts out of discarded raincoats to raise money for socially maladjusted koalas than actually venture out into the city for a jolly good night out.

If these fun-vacuums were restricted to those painfully dull counties south of Stoke, we wouldn’t have a problem, but there are a number of them seeping into our fair and enlightened city, spreading words of discouragement on our debauchery. These foul naysayers have focused their wayward words on the very north of our city, upon the bustling mayhem surrounding those glorious streets – Dale, Victoria and Mathew.

I must admit, due to my slightly southern aspect and complete laziness, I don’t get up to our northern marches as often as I should and that being such a shameful state of affairs I recently embarked on a tour of some of the finer establishments in this most elegant of neighbourhoods. There are some great restaurants and tons of great bars in the area, far too many to mention all of the little blighters, so I’ll just do a quick run through of my favourites.

The legendary Ged Hogan has sharpened his knives and is turning out some amazing food at The Haymarket, on Victoria Street. Ged worked at the mythical Bechers Brook before trotting around a few venues honing his considerable skills. The venue has recently recruited fellow wine boffin Jamie George to chat up the boys and girls front of house and give you a hand selecting a quality tipple to support Ged’s breathtaking menu.

A short jaunt down the road will take you to my old sparring partner, Stuart St John’s gaff, nestling on the ground floor of the Sir Thomas Hotel. Negotiate your way through some local sporting legends and secure yourself a table in the most underrated restaurant in the city. Stuart and his band of talented lunatics are the masters of satisfying, honest food. The wine list is comprehensive and uncomplicated, try one of Stuey’s blinding steaks with a bottle of Amarone, absolute perfection.

The last venue on my tour of the soon to be frozen north is Ziba, at the Racquet Club, stashed away in the Hargreaves Buildings, on Chapel Street. James Morgan has recently taken over shouting duties from Neil Dempsey in this very successful kitchen.

This is definitely the venue to take the other woman/ man. A blindingly suave dining room that’s really hard to find, no chance of bumping into the family in this cheeky place. Mr Morgan’s menu has an old school, colonial dining room feel, but is definitely proud of its northern roots, plenty of local produce on offer.

For a man in my filthy occupation, it’s the wine list that has me frothing at the wallet. There’s a real love affair going on here, some truly stunning wines. The list is arranged in styles as opposed to regions, which should help the less sophisticated among you to choose a suitably decadent bottle of jumping water to accompany your fine tucker.