So Much Further To Go

  As I write this, Qatar and Ecuador are about to face off in the first match of the 2022 Men’s World Cup. A clash with a deep history, with geopolitical intrigue interwoven between each pass. You’ll be able to cut the tension in the Al Bayt stadium with a knife. Probably. I don’t know. I’m not watching. In my own, petty, inconsequential way, I want to make a futile and useless gesture. So, I’m going to boycott the World Cup. I'm the first to admit that I'm a fickle football fan, with a relationship driven more from masochism than joy through supporting both Forest and England, both masters of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. But the World Cup was different. A festival of football, of wall charts stuck to the fridge, of ludicrous europop anthems, of Ally McCoist dispensing a brief history of Stalin’s dacha in the midst of a dull 0-0. The excitement of TV being wheeled into the school hall at 7am for us to glimpse the exoticism of Japan, to be thrilled and ultimately

I found myself at Amersham, as one does, staring down the tube map. Zone 9 (or Buckinghamshire, as it is sometimes known) is on the outer extremes of the urban agglomeration that is London. Stretching in front of me was a collection of places I’d never really heard of, never mind visited. And it occurred to me that these places may not merely be stops on one branch of one tube, but rather a glancing window into a whole hidden world. I could have painstakingly researched the etymology of each stop, teasing out the nuggets of intrigue, and woven these into a tale of people and place that covers the Chilterns through to the roaring heart of the City. Instead, I’ve just made it up. So, join me on a journey through the imagination, via Neasden, of the Metropolitan line 1 , with extraordinarily little bearing on reality 2 . Amersham “Amersham,” she whispered. In the half light, she could swear that she saw his silhouette in her doorway. She looked again, and he was gone. Alice would

On 18 th August 1782, William Blake, prophet of Romanticism, married Catherine Boucher, at St Mary’s Church in Battersea. Their courtship was short, and apparently sealed when Blake regaled Boucher with a story of a previous spurned engagement. He asked if she pitied him, and she did. He then, taking pity as a sign from above, declared his love for her. Boucher inspired Blake, and his devotion to her was steadfast 1 . In the years that followed, Blake painted and wrote; whilst all around him, the industrial revolution forged a new world from blood, sweat and pig iron. The Albion Flour Mills, in Southwark, were a short distance away from Blake, and burned down in 1791. This sight, but also his belief that the factories, mills, and collieries of the early 19 th century represented an enslavement of humanity; inspired him. And was Jerusalem builded here, amongst these dark Satanic Mills? 150 years on from Blake and Boucher’s marriage, a second temple was being erected on the banks o

 With my finger on the pulse of current affairs, I’ve decided to write about what the entire world has been discussing 1 – namely the second in an occasional series about moving to London. You’ve decided to move to the greatest city on Earth (or at least within the M25), but London is big. You can’t just point Rightmove at 607 square miles and hope for the best unless you’ve got a real masochistic streak (or lots of time on your hands). With it harder than ever to either rent or buy in the city, you’ve really got to have your wits about you and focus your search with the kind of pinpoint accuracy usually reserved for targeted projectiles. To help aid your search and narrow down your options, here’s a handy guide to some of the areas of London you may be tempted by. Clapham You can’t stay at university forever, but you can move to Clapham and pretend you never left. A pilgrimage many graduates make from university cities across the north, round the South Circular, Clapham is the

London is intimidating. It’s a large wary mass, hurriedly trying to go about its business before it starts raining. It has its own set of unwritten rules, that for the uninitiated can make any trip to the city a baffling ordeal. So, after almost six years of learning my way around life in the capital, I’ve taken a stab at pulling together my guide to moving to London. Over the next few posts, I’ll dispense invaluable (aka free) wisdom on whether you should move to London, where you should live, what there is to do, and many other vitally important questions. If you’re already here, then you can see whether you should have bothered. Ever since Dick Whittington and his cat travelled down the A1 in search of streets of gold, people have moved to London. Be it in search of fame, fortune or fun; there are a multitude of reasons why people flock here. But is it really a good idea? Let’s review why exactly you want to move. For a job. It is a sad reality that for certain careers, you wil

 Almost a decade ago, I went to watch a football match. Nothing too surprising about that, I was a season ticket holder at Nottingham Forest at the time. Before kick-off, I’d got chatting to the bloke sat in front of me. He seemed fairly polite and mild-mannered; a Sunday at the garden centre personified. We were mid-discussion about the wisdom of the team selection, before he excused himself, and turned to face the pitch. Casper Ankergren, the Brighton & Hove keeper, was kneeling in front of their fans, sorting out his boots. “OI ANKERGREN, I BET YOUR FANS FUCKING LOVE YOU SHOWING YOUR ARSE”, and in case there was any doubt, he added “COS THEY’RE ALL BENT”. He then turned back, and calmly continued discussing the form of Lewis McGugan. That was nine years ago, but it’s also still now. With this as a backdrop, the recent news that Jake Daniels is the first professional footballer in England to come out in 32 years is an incredible act of personal bravery. The reaction and support