Now, this has been weighing on my mind a bit recently, because it never seemed like that to me when I was living there. I’ve been wondering why I had such a reaction on my last visit.
So I took the opportunity to come back again this week, just for a few days, to see what my perception was this time. As I write, I’m sitting in an internet cafe in south Croydon.
I flew back in yesterday, determined not to let preconceptions influence my judgement.
I have to say that the potential for disaster sowed its seeds right from the start. I flew into Gatwick airport yesterday afternoon in the middle of gale-force winds and driving rain. As we came into land we were buffeted around a lot and as the wheels finally touched the tarmac and came to a halt there was a clear sense of relief as a load of people at the back of the plane broke into spontaneous applause and cheers.
However, perhaps this time, despite the bad start, things were going to be different, I thought to myself. Because, far from being on edge and clenching my seat arms tightly in fear as others were, I sat nonchalantly, a picture of Zen calm, smiling to myself. Why?
Well, a few years ago, in my old PR job, I took a group of journalists on a flight from Inverness in northern Scotland to Stornoway, on the Western Isles. It was also December. The plane was a seven-seater turbo-prop and the weather was about ten times worse than yesterday. Gale-force winds shook our little plane around as if it was in the hands of some giant tiny tearaway toddler flinging it around above his head. We shook, we really shook, as the gusts thudded into the side of the aircraft with loud bangs.
We landed. But this time we all applauded. I think there may have even been some Hail Marys and a lot of hugs – which was all very unusual for a group of macho, go-anywhere, do-anything, hairy-arsed journos. But such are the reactions when your life is flashing before your eyes.
So yesterday was a piece of cake for me. Not that I’m trying to brag or anything. The point I’m making is that despite appearances, the omens seemed good from the outset. Not even 60 mph gusts hurling the plane sideways as it flew into Gatwick could dent my confidence this time.
And, as if some strange force was at work determined to give me a better impression this time around, I got off the plane quickly, was through passport control in a jiffy and didn’t even have to wait for a train, because it pulled in just as I walked down to the platform. Getting off the plane and getting on the train to Croydon took no more than ten minutes. I swear.
Sure enough, when I arrived in Croydon, the bus I needed arrived in no time and after dropping off my bags I wandered back into town where, in the very first shop I walked into, I was called “Sir” by two different shop assistants. For a moment, I had to check myself. Was I really in Croydon, the place that the tourist guide books say is, I quote: “the best place in the UK to get stabbed.”
I then went into a newsagents to buy a newspaper and a bottle of water. At the counter, a man tipped his hat to me and motioned for me to go in front of him. Then, as I walked out, a young man, dressed like a chav, accidentally knocked me as he walked past and he turned around and said “Sorry about that.” Had I been sitting on a chair at the time, I would have promptly fallen off it in shock.
By this time my head was buzzing. And it only got better. As I walked up the street, I saw a traffic warden knock on the window of a shop, smile and gesture for the people inside to move their car. He pointed to his watch as if to say to them “I’ll give you a few minutes.” Did they respond with the usual one-fingered salute and the pointy, confrontational finger wagging followed by a mouthful of insults? No, they cheerfully waved back and even gave the warden the thumbs-up.
It was then that I started to think that perhaps there was indeed some strange force at work here. Had Croydon council despatched an elite squad of highly trained pixies to make these things happen in front of my eyes?
Now, don’t get me wrong. There were still the usual old blokes, with the roll-up cigarettes and the pints all congregating outside the pubs as usual. But this time, something was different. Even though they were being buffeted by the wind and the rain, they all seemed to be smiling and happy. I think I even saw a few enthusiastic back-slaps, but perhaps I imagined that.
I have two more days here. Let’s see what else happens. But right now, the sun is shining, there’s not a cloud in the sky and everyone is smiling, saying a cheery “Hello” to complete strangers and saying “Thank you” when you hold a door open for them. Even the school kids!
It’s weird. But it’s very nice. I’ll let you know next week if I get stabbed between now and Monday.
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