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Something that bothered me for years was being asked to “come up to London” when I found myself living almost two hundred miles north of the city. Just one of those things that you end up writing a poem about…

COME UP TO LONDON!  (A NORTHERN PERSPECTIVE)

Since finding myself here in Cornwall

It feels right to go up to The Smoke.

When I lived north of the Watford Gap

It struck me as a bit of a joke…

That Londoners seem to place themselves

Like they’re on some sort of pinnacle;

A distinct lack of self-awareness…

‘One compass short of a binnacle’.

“You really must come up to see us!”

When issued from a Londoner’s mouth

Causes me, a windswept Pennines lad,

To think, “Now hang on…London’s down south!”

If needs must I come up to London

To visit them for business or fun;

Then the smartest way to make that trip

Would see me driving down the M1.

Is it they’re crap at geography

Or have a poor grasp of direction?

Metropolitan elitism

Is, for me, the likely suggestion.

They see London as peak perfection:

It’s uphill from wherever you drive.

Like the Emerald City of Oz

Encircled by the M25.

Put themselves on a pedestal and

Everyone else in a pedal bin.

If we have to come up to London

Then how can ‘up north’ ever be grim?

“Live by satellite…from Everest…

Edmund, Tenzing…well done you two!

We can’t wait to see you when you come

Up to London for an interview”.

The media types thought that where they were

Made them special, safe, rather cloistered.

I just smiled at their howls of dismay

When they moved them all up to Salford.

©graylightfoot