Putting The 'On' in London

As I met a distant relative today, whom I have not seen for 20 years, I was reminded of two things: how old I am, and how great it is to be able to refer to London as home. Unlike my age, which I never really enjoy referring to in any context unless I am conversing with people over the age of 40, the ability to refer to London as home is one that always evokes a certain feeling of pride. Yes, I left London over a year ago for sunnier climes, but I still remember that feeling you get when someone asks you where you live. Most cities or towns would be mumbled quietly in response, perhaps as you thrust your hands defensively into your pockets and look down at the ground; “Um, Oswaldtwhistle, you know, just outside Blackburn … up north?” You might even throw in a general geographic reference to minimise the damage. But when you reside in one of the world’s truly great cities the response is completely different. You still might put your hands in your pockets but this time with your head held high, and perhaps with an accompanying pivot on the toes and gentle pelvic thrust, depending on the company: “LONDON.” You spit it out at the interrogator like you’ve just slapped down an unbeatable hand in poker. You challenge them to better it. Few can, except perhaps Parisians and New Yorkers. But it is days like today when London gives you a glimpse into the heart of what truly makes it great. Forget the multicultural faces of Oxford Street, or Somers Town alleys full of pubs and chippies. Forget the black cabs and red buses. Today, tonight, it is all about White Hart Lane.

With the English Premier League season drawing to a breathless close all eyes are focussed on Manchester United and Chelsea. United are doing their best to hold on to their chances like a slippery bar of Cussons Imperial Leather; Chelsea are positioning themselves perfectly to take advantage when the soap is dropped. But there is another entity lurking in this misty, steamy shower scene, dagger in hand, waiting for that Hitchcock moment to yank back the shower curtain: Arsenal. Do not be fooled by the studious Wenger and his perceived lack of killer instinct. Arsenal have not been in this position for almost ten years and believe you me, they are not about to waste it. The French have a habit of conjuring up some real magic when it matters most – please resist the urge at this point to think of that famous volleyball player Thierry Henry, or that martial arts expert Eric Cantona – and I suspect the “prestige”, as magicians say when referring to their big finale, is very close to being revealed by Wenger and his charges. With respect to some amazing clashes at both ends of the table this season, tonight may very well be an all-time classic. Arsenal are up against their greatest rivals Tottenham Hotspur, and it’s this sort of clash that brings life to the streets of North London. Occasionally a bit of death too. Spurs are smarting from their recent FA Cup exit. Arsenal are potentially timing their run for the league title to perfection. The resulting clash could prove astonishing.

The distant relative I was speaking to earlier told me she now lives in Hackney, and it immediately brought back those fond memories of just what life in London meant to me: kebabs, ale (not usually in that order), shops, good food, great music, movies, shows, traffic, tube delays, rain, crime, Gordon Brown. I think I just remembered why I left. I digress … I only ever watched two Premier League games in my eight years in the capital of England – neither of them London derbies – and few sporting occasions, barring perhaps Wimbledon, the FA Cup and the Olympics, can bring such a buzz and vibrant atmosphere to the city. Tonight will be a massive show, but such is the sheer size of London it will probably go largely unnoticed by the majority of Londoners. And that’s part of the brilliance of the place. There is always something going on that satisfies every interest. So as I sit here on the other side of the world preparing myself for yet another early morning in order to watch a recording of the match, I cannot help but feel a pang of jealousy. An old colleague who sat across from me in London is equipped with as much wit in his sense of humour as he is with passion for his beloved Arsenal. He attends every game, which I guess makes him very witty. He is one of those lucky few who, tonight, are part of something special; part of the great beating heart of London. It reminds me of the day when managed to catch the opening stage of the Tour de France shooting by outside Buckingham Palace, followed by a quick beer in a Kensington pub, and the final few sets of the mixed doubles semi-finals at Wimbledon on my way home. Those were the days. I guess I will have to settle for the Red Bull Air Race this weekend in Perth. For the record Arsenal will win 2-1. They will also go on and win the title. I hope the pigs that fly don’t hit any planes at the Air Race.