You aspire what?

My normal walk home changed yesterday and I finally embraced that fact that makes me weirder than almost everyone else: I aspire to live in Tottenham. Not many people would say that: least of all die-hard Spurs fans. If you’ve been to Tottenham, you’ll understand why it’s the poorest part of one of London’s most unequal boroughs; why it’s crime ratings are so high; why the several million currently being poored into the high road environmental improvements will barely scratch the surface. But I think I probably see different things to you.

Disembarking at Seven Sisters, I walked past the disputed Wards Corner, with its Latin American coffee shops, past the market, the students ignoring the media hype about innercity London, the beautiful Town Hall and its new neighbour, the Bernie Grant Arts Centre. Then it was past High Cross, reminding one of the Domesday-ish age of the locality, up to Bruce Grove past inumerable Turkish food shops, and a particularly interesting looking Russian cafe. Onwards, past the wonderfully-restored white towers of Scotland Green (stark in contrast to its burnt-out neighbours), the bleakness of Millicent Fawcett Court contrasting with the faded Victorian splendour of Rheola Close and the council offices on the High Road. And as I walk by road by road of neglected but beautiful terraces, I’m reminded that this is a great place, and I don’t care what you think. 

All I need now is a mortgage. Hmm…


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