South London Hardcore: "I think the place is overdue some recognition beyond street crime statistics."

Rob Pollard interviews South London's biggest promoters.

South London is a fascinating area of England. It has a rich cultural history, and was the birthplace of many iconic people: from David Bowie and Rio Ferdinand, to Ken Livingstone and Daniel Day-Lewis. Despite this, South London is often viewed negatively. Sneered at for its perceived social ills, it has a reputation for being an area riddled with crime and feral teens, with those who live above the Thames looking down on those from below. It’s the Cinderella of the capital’s sub-regions.

South London Hardcore (SLHC) is a podcast which looks closely at the area’s history, celebrating the people, ideas and art that define South London. Launched in late 2011 by Jack McInroy and Steve Walsh, SLHC has already covered many aspects of South London’s past and present: a discussion with author Alan Moore and photographer Mitch Jenkins; an insight into Dulwich Hamlet Football Club, including interviews with their star midfielder and club historian; and a detailed look at the trilogy of Lambeth-based films: Me and My Girl, Passport to Pimlico, and We Are the Lambeth Boys.

Jack feels the negativity that surrounds South London is what compelled him to launch the podcast. “I think one of the reasons for concentrating on South London is the way it is seen by people on the other side of the river. It is widely looked down on, but we have a rich history and much to take pride in. From Michael Faraday, Tim Berners-Lee, Charlie Chaplin and Mick Jones: some of the greatest and most important people to have ever lived are from here.” A desire to re-assess South London and begin celebrating its achievements rather than dwelling on its stereotypes is also important to co-presenter Steve. “Once we started doing the show we realised that people have a very firm idea of what South London is. Unfortunately it’s an idea that is perpetrated by a cultural and media bias that requires South London to live down to some very unfortunate stereotypes. South London is too often used as cultural shorthand for poverty, ignorance and violence. What we try to do on the show is to examine the rich history of the area and celebrate the people, places and ideas that we can lay claim to. South London has given the world Charlie Chaplin, David Bowie and Enid Blyton. We’ve played host to William Shakespeare, Vincent van Gogh and Mary Wollstonecraft. Transpontine thinkers were innovators in electricity, computing and the Internet. I think the place is overdue some recognition beyond street crime statistics.”

SLHC’s slogan also feeds in to this theme, as Jack is keen to explain. “Our motto is Pluvis Lutum In Tibialibus Nostris, which is latin for ‘clay dust on our socks’, a reference to lesser known tennis players that arrive at Wimbledon with orange dust stains from the clay court season still on their clothes. The idea is wherever we go where we’ve been is always evident.”

The passion of the presenters to uncover the best of South London is what makes SLHC so good. It involves detailed research and a strong desire to uncover the best South London has to offer. Steve feels the possibilities are endless. “There’s no end in sight. It’s started to feel that the more we talk about the more possibilities open up for us. It didn’t take long for us to realise though that we had actually struck upon a goldmine of material and potential points of discussion.”

So, assuming SLHC continues to grow, who would the ideal guest be? “I’d love to have Danny Baker on the show,” says Steve. “I think he’s a cracking broadcaster and I was always fascinated as a kid that this guy from our area was basically allowed to go on telly and just be funny and cheek people. Jack, on the other hand, wants either “David Bowie, Rio Ferdinand, or Gary Oldman, but at the moment I’m trying really hard to get my mate Hassan on.”

Find out more about South London Hardcore here

On the south bank, looking North. Photograph: Getty Images

Rob Pollard is a freelance writer. You can follow him on Twitter @_robpollard

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Is there such a thing as responsible betting?

Punters are encouraged to bet responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly.

I try not to watch the commercials between matches, or the studio discussions, or anything really, before or after, except for the match itself. And yet there is one person I never manage to escape properly – Ray Winstone. His cracked face, his mesmerising voice, his endlessly repeated spiel follow me across the room as I escape for the lav, the kitchen, the drinks cupboard.

I’m not sure which betting company he is shouting about, there are just so many of them, offering incredible odds and supposedly free bets. In the past six years, since the laws changed, TV betting adverts have increased by 600 per cent, all offering amazingly simple ways to lose money with just one tap on a smartphone.

The one I hate is the ad for BetVictor. The man who has been fronting it, appearing at windows or on roofs, who I assume is Victor, is just so slimy and horrible.

Betting firms are the ultimate football parasites, second in wealth only to kit manufacturers. They have perfected the capitalist’s art of using OPM (Other People’s Money). They’re not directly involved in football – say, in training or managing – yet they make millions off the back of its popularity. Many of the firms are based offshore in Gibraltar.

Football betting is not new. In the Fifties, my job every week at five o’clock was to sit beside my father’s bed, where he lay paralysed with MS, and write down the football results as they were read out on Sports Report. I had not to breathe, make silly remarks or guess the score. By the inflection in the announcer’s voice you could tell if it was an away win.

Earlier in the week I had filled in his Treble Chance on the Littlewoods pools. The “treble” part was because you had three chances: three points if the game you picked was a score draw, two for a goalless draw and one point for a home or away win. You chose eight games and had to reach 24 points, or as near as possible, then you were in the money.

“Not a damn sausage,” my father would say every week, once I’d marked and handed him back his predictions. He never did win a sausage.

Football pools began in the 1920s, the main ones being Littlewoods and Vernons, both based in Liverpool. They gave employment to thousands of bright young women who checked the results and sang in company choirs in their spare time. Each firm spent millions on advertising. In 1935, Littlewoods flew an aeroplane over London with a banner saying: Littlewoods Above All!

Postwar, they blossomed again, taking in £50m a year. The nation stopped at five on a Saturday to hear the scores, whether they were interested in football or not, hoping to get rich. BBC Sports Report began in 1948 with John Webster reading the results. James Alexander Gordon took over in 1974 – a voice soon familiar throughout the land.

These past few decades, football pools have been left behind, old-fashioned, low-tech, replaced by online betting using smartphones. The betting industry has totally rebooted itself. You can bet while the match is still on, trying to predict who will get the next goal, the next corner, the next throw-in. I made the last one up, but in theory you can bet instantly, on anything, at any time.

The soft sell is interesting. With the old football pools, we knew it was a remote flutter, hoping to make some money. Today the ads imply that betting on football somehow enhances the experience, adds to the enjoyment, involves you in the game itself, hence they show lads all together, drinking and laughing and putting on bets.

At the same time, punters are encouraged to do it responsibly. What a laugh that is. It’s like encouraging drunks to get drunk responsibly, to crash our cars responsibly, murder each other responsibly. Responsibly and respect are now two of the most meaningless words in the football language. People have been gambling, in some form, since the beginning, watching two raindrops drip down inside the cave, lying around in Roman bathhouses playing games. All they’ve done is to change the technology. You have to respect that.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 05 February 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Putin's war