A step into the unknown

For more than 46 years I have lived within 20 miles of the south coast - for two-thirds of that time within half-a-mile of the sea as the crow flies.

To me, the area known as 'the north' has always been a mystical land filled with giants, damsels in distress, dragons, whippets, cloth caps and blokes who wear cap-sleeve T-shirts in February.

I am the archetypical 'soft southern shite'. I'm happy drinking pear cider, wouldn't attempt anything hotter than a chicken madras, and always make sure I wrap up warm as soon as the leaves start to fall from the trees. Even a genealogical study fails to turn up any of my ancestors who lived north of 'the smoke'.

Any visits to 'the north' were brought about by watching football (often when younger); out of necessity with work (occasional); and the odd - and I use the term advisedly - weekend away at some tourist trap (seldom).

I once went to York for the weekend with my first wife and can recall being completely underwhelmed by the Jarvik Viking Museum - it was more than 20 years ago and must have improved otherwise it wouldn't still be there. I think some of the displays were made by the original invaders.

I do quite like Oxford, though it is only those of us who live in the deep south who would ever consider Oxford as 'north'. Inspector Morse was based in Oxford, of course, and I can recall him saying that he once visited 'somewhere' and "further north than that I have no desire to go".

It tickled me then and it would tickle me again now if only I could remember where the 'somewhere' was.

Anyway, I digress. The reason I write of 'the north' is that I am going there today, with our eldest, who has an interview with Sheffield University tomorrow.

Sheffield, of course, likes to compare itself with Rome, both being built upon seven hills. From what I can recall from previous visits that's the only similarity - I can't imagine the Full Monty being remade in Rome for the Italian market.

Nor, when travelling to Rome, do you have to pass Luton, Milton Keynes and Nottingham to get there.

Rome has the Colosseum; Sheffield the Meadowhall shopping centre. Rome is full of beautiful women in designer clothing; the north is full of hoodied chavs - though to be fair so is most of England these days.

I'm a great believer that devolution should not have stopped with Wales and Scotland. The Midlands and the North should have been next to be given independence, with only the south - and maybe, at a push, the south-east - being retained as England.

Cornwall, as we know, has long harboured a desire to be an independent state and it should be given that right along with anything west of Fareham. Likewise Suffolk and Norfolk where there are several million people and only about five surnames.

You may have summised I'm not looking forward to my trip north. I'm approaching it with the same trepidation that Capt Scott and his team had when attempting to travel to the South Pole. I'm expecting the same desolation and temperature.

But most of all I'm worried that James, coming up 18, might actually like it and choose to continue his education in the city's university. That would require further visits ... and I'm not sure I could survive the culture shock.

*For fellow sufferers, might I take the liberty of offering up a recommended read... Up North by Charles Jennings. A fellow southern Jessie goes in search of the real 'north'.