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the journey, is like a Whitby sail, worn and torn, signs of old age under the old North Stand. Whereas my allegiance to my home club is steadfast, I do hope the gunners new home is a step to greater things. Also I hope the paper round wages are adequate!
Once inside the historic station, that is after consciously not looking for the Harry Potter plaque, having never read or wanted to read JK Rowlings etchings. I have no desire to read anything that glorifies witchcraft. We quickly move to the front of the building, trying to decide tube or bus to Caledonian Road. Being from Yorkshire, knowing the difference between a Scotsman and a Yorkshireman, (for those who don't know, a Yorkshireman doesn't have an accent). The tube ticket for one stop was the same price as a Keighley to Leeds return! The bus was fairly full as we boarded, and as we move away from Kings Cross we notice the street names Pentonville Road and eventually Holloway Road. This reminded us of how much of our capital has a dark side. I am always more conscious of who is around me when down there, a change from the more relaxed state of mind I have when in West Yorkshire. Maybe it's the friendlier outlook we have, we talk to anyone and everyone back home, whereas in London, if you say sorry or excuse me after accidentally maiming someone with your luggage, you are looked upon as an alien!

After leaving our luggage at our digs, we make our way back into the heart of the city, if it actually has a heart! Being coatless and bagless we march straight into the lunchtime rush. What is a marvel to us is an inconvenience to the lunchtimers, grabbing a sandwich and bottle of water as they go about their business as we do, only a quiet day in London is like the Saturday before Christmas in Leeds city centre!
At Trafalgar Square, the absence of pigeons saddens us, memories of our children covered in pigeons is still a favourite of mine and at the corner where the seeds were sold I can still visualise the stall with queues of families waiting to enjoy cheap entertainment, and in my head that dreadful song from Mary Poppins!
At Leicester Square we noted other queues, the ones to outlets for the various shows that London is famous for. The half-price theatre tickets at northern prices, where you stand out in the sun for fifty minutes and find even then they are more Stevenage than Wakefield unless you want the least popular shows or matinees. But, I suppose, when in Rome, or in this case London!
It occurred to me, as much as I dream of living in London and the excitement of the sights and shows, the hustle and bustle, the overcrowding in restaurants and even more perturbing the queues in the gents, I can see why many of the same people who made that same journey on the train do so. To live with the lack of green I almost despised earlier, a dwelling with parking restrictions or bars on the downstairs windows and the fear of congestion charges is frightening. I would hate, back in civilisation where parking can be experienced, to live permanently under such pressure. But there again it could be nice.

Learn more about this author, Noel Donaldson.
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