The north is doomed and we’d all be better off packing our bags and moving to the already overcrowded Home Counties, according to a Conservative leaning think-tank.

The report, by Policy Exchange, has severely embarrassed the Tory leadership by suggesting that multi-million regeneration projects are a waste of money and cities such as Bradford, Liverpool and Sunderland should simply be abandoned.

Even the report’s author admits he risks being seen as “plain barmy”, but my real objection to his work is that it shows an almost wilful ignorance of what is commonly termed “the north”.

As anyone who lives here realises, that together with the undoubted deprivation of Buttershaw and Manningham you’ll find the prosperity of the leafier parts of the Aire and Wharfe valleys – and all are lumped together in Bradford thanks to the reorganisation of local government in 1974.

My friend – let’s call him Jim – would no doubt have a chuckle at the report. He’s a committed southerner who spent the first 30 years of his life firmly ensconced within the confines of the M25.

Just over a decade ago his firm dropped a bombshell – they wanted him to relocate to Leeds. Jim couldn’t have been more horrified if they’d exiled him to Siberia, but he sold it to his wife as a temporary move that would benefit his career in the long run.

But soon the north began to work its charms. Firstly, Jim was delighted to discover that after selling his bog-standard Barrett box in the south east he could afford a magnificent former wool baron’s folly with views of Ilkley Moor and the lovely Middleton Woods on the doorstep.

The daily 2-hour grind into London was replaced with a 40-minute trip on relatively clean and comfortable electric trains.

His wife spent her mornings perfecting her ground strokes with the dishy young coach at the tennis club and her afternoons gossiping with new-found friends in Bettys.

The children were enrolled in good state schools and their evenings were crammed with pony trekking, ballet and violin lessons and yet more tennis.

At company get togethers Jim became accustomed to the pity – and ridicule – from London-based colleagues. “Have you bought a whippet yet?”, “Do you keep coal in the Jacuzzi?” and many more where they came from.

Jim smiles wanly, as though he hasn’t heard them all before, but he is haunted by a terrible nightmare – what if the company decided to move him back to London!

Perhaps he could afford to buy a semi in Bromley; maybe the Northern Line isn’t really as hellish as he remembers it; perhaps they’ll find schools where there aren’t too many knife-fights in the playground?

Jim prefers not to think about it and instead keeps coming up with new reasons why it is imperative he remains in the Yorkshire office. His boss is properly appreciative of the sacrifices he has made for the sake of the company.

As Jim could tell you – the north is a wonderful secret. Let’s keep it that way.