It's a wonderful town: the New York skyline. Photo: Getty
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Life is a love affair of places – but as you get older, you find your co-ordinates change

Ed Smith’s Left Field column. 

Experience is as much about receptivity as what actually happened. How good is a novel? It depends on when you read it. Read The Great Gatsby or Brideshead Revisited in early adulthood, before you can see the tricks, and you’re more likely to get swept along by the wrought glamour.

As with books, also places. How great is a city? How old were you when you arrived, how hungry for experience, how open to risk? How precisely did you register social distinctions? A city is only the sum of your memories of it. And memory is uneven; there are phases when events lodge more luminously.

“A writer can spin on about his adventures after 30, after 40, after 50,” F Scott Fitzgerald wrote in an essay, “but the criteria by which those adventures are weighed and valued are irrevocably settled at the age of 25.” Autobiographies, John Betjeman said, should end at the authors’ late twenties. By then you’ve been through all the interesting bits. While I hope Fitzgerald and Betjeman were wrong, I suspect they were on to something.

For me, those adventures were divided between summers playing cricket in England and winters in Lower Manhattan. For a five-year spell in my early twenties, I lived in New York for three or four months a year. Partly I wanted to escape my very English life; partly, after seven months of county cricket each summer, I was so tired of living in a contained, limited environment that I needed an injection of city life; and partly it was that I had made new friends in New York and missed them.

It sounds both sloppy and grandiose to say, “I fell in love with New York.” But places can exert a hold on us at certain moments, just like people. “Dear Chicago”, Ryan Adams’s wonderful confessional song, deliberately blurs the distinction. Is he writing about a place, a person or both? It’s not clear.

We usually explain away infatuation with places apologetically, as though it shouldn’t matter. “Life is an affair of people and not of places,” wrote Wallace Stevens in Adagia, “but for me life is an affair of places and that is just the trouble.” There isn’t even a common word for “cityphilia”. Urbanity, too tied up with manners, doesn’t quite catch it.

Last month, 15 years after my first visit, I went back to New York. I walked everywhere, as I always used to, following no particular plan beyond the staging posts of superior coffee houses. Imagining I was observing how New York had changed, I was in reality following a different journey. Cities change, but not as fast as you do.

The first shock is the most obvious. Falling in love with a city, you are being seduced by it. The particulars, however real they feel, are incidental. You realise that, experienced more objectively, the shops are just shops and the restaurants are much like other restaurants; even the parks don’t look as remarkable as you remembered them. Those things, however nice, did not define the experience. They provided the canvas. The picture was the feeling of observing while being mostly unobserved, walking and seeing, part of something and yet removed from it, absence in presence.

When you are in your early twenties, still working out who you are, the city is rich not just with entertainment but also with influences. When career, temperament and sensibility are all in flux, the range and scale of what is relevant and interesting are almost infinite. Later – when you are, perhaps, clearer and certainly busier – so much is subconsciously filtered out. The downside is diminished instinctive receptivity.

In his perceptive essay “Here Is New York”, E B White distinguished between three versions of the city: first, that of the native New Yorker, for whom its turbulence and scale are facts of life; second, that of the commuter; and third, the New York of the person who comes “in quest of something”. “Of these three trembling cities,” White concluded, “the greatest is the last . . . the city that is a goal. It is this third city that
accounts for New York’s high-strung disposition, its poetical deportment.”

I lived mostly on St Mark’s Place, in what is now called the East Village, a few doors from where W H Auden spent his winters for 20 years. A friend of mine – a resident of St Mark’s since 1963, when he was an improbably handsome young man – remembers Auden, not surprisingly, as an especially attentive neighbour.

Once I could have bored anyone who might listen on the apparently vast differences between the West Village (ex-bohem­ia-turned-über-gentrified-boutique) and its younger and – then – poorer hipster brother, the East Village.

Now? I found myself thinking, equally often in both areas, “You’re not getting a pram easily out of that doorway.” Preoccupations change.

And yet somehow experience, like the city itself, does remain more concentrated in Manhattan. Cities rely on proximity to generate their sense of serendipity and nowhere else squeezes so much life into a small space. The collisions and contrasts take on their own energy.

Having watched the New York Jets charge into the Chicago Bears on Monday night, on Tuesday I attended the opening gala of the New York City Ballet. On the pavement outside Lincoln Centre, I bumped into an old friend.

Over an impromptu dinner, joined by friends from richly contrasting professional spheres, I realised how such chance events, which I always associate with New York life, have influenced my way of thinking. If the city seems less dazzling than it once did, that’s partly because it is so bound up with who you are. 

Ed Smith’s latest book is “Luck: a Fresh Look at Fortune” (Bloomsbury, £8.99)

Ed Smith is a journalist and author, most recently of Luck. He is a former professional cricketer and played for both Middlesex and England.

This article first appeared in the 15 October 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Isis can be beaten

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Meet Anne Marie Waters - the Ukip politician too extreme for Nigel Farage

In January 2016, Waters launched Pegida UK with former EDL frontman Steven Yaxley-Lennon (aka Tommy Robinson). 

There are few people in British political life who can be attacked from the left by Nigel Farage. Yet that is where Anne Marie Waters has found herself. And by the end of September she could well be the new leader of Ukip, a party almost synonymous with its beer-swilling, chain-smoking former leader.

Waters’s political journey is a curious one. She started out on the political left, but like Oswald Mosley before her, has since veered dramatically to the right. That, however, is where the similarities end. Waters is Irish, agnostic, a lesbian and a self-proclaimed feminist.

But it is her politics – rather than who she is – that have caused a stir among Ukip’s old guard. Former leader Paul Nuttall has said that her views make him “uncomfortable” while Farage has claimed Ukip is “finished” if, under her leadership, it becomes an anti-Islam party.

In her rhetoric, Waters echoes groups such as the English Defence League (EDL) and Britain First. She has called Islam “evil” and her leadership manifesto claims that the religion has turned Britain into a “fearful and censorious society”. Waters wants the banning of the burqa, the closure of all sharia councils and a temporary freeze on all immigration.

She started life in Dublin before moving to Germany in her teens to work as an au pair. Waters also lived in the Netherlands before returning to Britain to study journalism at Nottingham Trent University, graduating in 2003. She subsequently gained a second degree in law. It was then, she says, that she first learnt about Islam, which she claims treats women “like absolute dirt”. Now 39, Waters is a full-time campaigner who lives in Essex with her two dogs and her partner who is an accountant.

Waters’s first spell of serious activism was with the campaign group One Law for All, a secularist organisation fronted by the Iranian feminist and human rights activist Maryam Namazie. Waters resigned in November 2013 after four years with the organisation. According to Namazie, Waters left due to political disagreements over whether the group should collaborate with members of far-right groups.

In April 2014, Waters founded Sharia Watch UK and, in January 2016, she launched Pegida UK with former EDL frontman Steven Yaxley-Lennon (aka Tommy Robinson). The group was established as a British chapter of the German-based organisation and was set up to counter what it called the “Islamisation of our countries”. By the summer of 2016, it had petered out.

Waters twice stood unsuccessfully to become a Labour parliamentary candidate. Today, she says she could not back Labour due to its “betrayal of women” and “betrayal of the country” over Islam. After joining Ukip in 2014, she first ran for political office in the Lambeth council election, where she finished in ninth place. At the 2015 general election, Waters stood as the party’s candidate in Lewisham East, finishing third with 9.1 per cent of the vote. She was chosen to stand again in the 2016 London Assembly elections but was deselected after her role in Pegida UK became public. Waters was also prevented from standing in Lewisham East at the 2017 general election after Ukip’s then-leader Nuttall publicly intervened.

The current favourite of the 11 candidates standing to succeed Nuttall is deputy leader Peter Whittle, with Waters in second. Some had hoped the party’s top brass would ban her from standing but last week its national executive approved her campaign.

Due to an expected low turnout, the leadership contest is unpredictable. Last November, Nuttall was elected with just 9,622 votes. More than 1,000 new members reportedly joined Ukip in a two-week period earlier this year, prompting fears of far-right entryism.

Mike Hookem MEP has resigned as Ukip’s deputy whip over Waters’ candidacy, saying he would not “turn a blind eye” to extremism. By contrast, chief whip, MEP Stuart Agnew, is a supporter and has likened her to Joan of Arc. Waters is also working closely on her campaign with Jack Buckby, a former BNP activist and one of the few candidates to run against Labour in the by-election for Jo Cox’s former seat of Batley and Spen. Robinson is another backer.

Peculiarly for someone running to be the leader of a party, Waters does not appear to relish public attention. “I’m not a limelight person,” she recently told the Times. “I don’t like being phoned all the time.”

The journalist Jamie Bartlett, who was invited to the initial launch of Pegida UK in Luton in 2015, said of Waters: “She failed to remember the date of the demo. Her head lolled, her words were slurred, and she appeared to almost fall asleep while Tommy [Robinson] was speaking. After 10 minutes it all ground to an uneasy halt.”

In an age when authenticity is everything, it would be a mistake to underestimate yet another unconventional politician. But perhaps British Muslims shouldn’t panic about Anne Marie Waters just yet.

James Bloodworth is editor of Left Foot Forward

This article first appeared in the 17 August 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Trump goes nuclear