I'll Always Have Northern Soul, But When I Saw London I Was Hooked - Despite my grandma's dire warnings, just had to leave Oldham behind

Despite my grandma's dire warnings, just had to leave Oldham behind

- By Nick Grimshaw

I don’t know if you’ve seen the montage of shock and awe reactions to the word “London” on Coronation Street doing the rounds? It features a whole host of Corrie favourites over the ages, changing their haircuts and fashion but never their violent reactions to the mere mention of the L word. London? How dare you flee to London! Anger, disgust, primal hatred or pure confusion pour out towards this far-away land.

Well, if you haven’t seen it, seek it out immediately because it’s brilliant. And accurate.

Accurate because much was the reaction when I left my hometown of Oldham and headed to that dreadful L place. “Where will you get yer ’aircut?” was my Mancunian born-and-bred Gran Beattie’s primary concern. Gran Beattie had only been to London once, in the Fifties, and warned me “the pavements are very ’ard down there, very ’ard!” My friend Jenny was concerned about the lack of proper chippies and warned me, “They don’t ’av owt wet on their tea, y’know.” Anti-southern friends called Londoners the unmentionable and warned me: “It is full of wankers.”

The North hasn’t traditionally held London in the same dreamlike state I always have. London always got me going. I remember lying to kids in the playground at primary school, saying: “Oh yeh, I’m defo going to big school in London.” I don’t know why I was drawn to it. But I was. Like a big lying moth to a flame.

Hard pavement fear aside, I was all set at 21, armed with nothing more than painfully skinny women’s jeans from Primark, a leather pencil- thin tie, disgusting Converses and a dream.

The Langan’s incident