That final week before Christmas

The final week before Christmas, the fall of the Berlin wall and the Premier League bunfight.

The early morning fog and mist have slowly lifted in this part of the world. Phew what a relief! I can see clearly now the rain has gone. Now there's a famous song lyric I've heard before. Anyway that early morning blanket of mist is drifting to somewhere else and around here all is quiet and peaceful. It could be that people have run  out of money. Or maybe we're just skint and destitute. Where did that year go? Or maybe its time to chill out, relax, re-charge the batteries and look forward to that family day of rest, leisure and sober re-appraisal, looking back on quite the most extraordinary year of our lives. There were so many momentous events that maybe we should stop time and try to take it all in.

Either that or the country has closed down for the day. Still I expect the supermarkets will be rushed off their feet shortly. There's bound to be a commercial stampede sooner or later. Now have we forgotten anything? The twentieth box of mince pies, the crackers without which no Christmas gathering would be complete. Or maybe another set of lights for the tree. What about another stack of presents, toys and games for the children, woolly hats, scarves, reindeer decorated pullovers or just any old festive cliche that comes into our possession. I know. Let's dig out all of those traditional board games. Now that would be cool. In an age of breakneck technology and Play Stations why don't we play Monopoly, Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit. So refreshingly old fashioned but the greatest fun you could ever have when the shops are closed for a couple of Christmas days.

Now let me see. The trains are on strike in London and it's almost Christmas. Now where have I heard that before?. Is it Southern trains? I can see it now. Boxing Day in London will be absolutely insufferable and intolerable. In fact I think the whole country will grind to a complete standstill. There will be a state of stagnation and total immobility that may just grip the country. Imagine Waterloo, Paddington and King's Cross St Pancras. It doesn't bear thinking about. Suddenly whole platforms will be mobbed with heaving masses of people or maybe my imagination is working overtime.

Meanwhile back in the very serious world of the Premier League the footballing giants, sleeping giants, mid table occupants and relegation strugglers are sharpening their ammunition. My team West Ham United are hoping that mid week victory over what seemed a very poor and limited Burnley team was no mere flash in the pan. Hull City are the latest visitors to the new London Stadium and for those who believe that the new Hammers domain could be the club's ruination it may be time to review your judgment.

Now the optimists are still confident that nothing catastrophic will happen to West Ham. Of course there are teething problems but then look at Arsenal and the Emirates and to a lesser extent Manchester City at the Etihad? It could be just a very awkward settling in period but you suspect that sooner or later the club will have to hit the ground running. There can be no time for anxiety, nervousness or hesitation. This is not a dress rehearsal so manager Slaven Bilic may find that when he wakes up on Christmas morning  the only presents he'll be getting are a P45 and temporary unemployment.

Still the Hammers, although hovering over the relegation trapdoor may find that the teams around them have also got problems and deficiencies. Anyway today's opposition Hull City reminds me of a deliciously pleasant game between the two teams a couple of decades ago when the Premier League was just a daydream in the FA hierarchy.

It was a family holiday and I seem to remember it was Lake Lugano in Switzerland. Now for reasons best known perhaps to myself I was just consumed with curiosity.  I suppose I had get my priorities right but the temptation was too much. I had to find out the result of the game and did my utmost to find out. These, after all, were historic times for the both the world and Europe.

At roughly the same time we were told that the Berlin Wall was about to come down and the relationship between East and West Germany would be altogether more amicable. Suddenly the coldness and frostiness betweeen East and West would be thawed out and soon both would become the best of buddies.

In the hotel where we were staying, overlooking the most stunning mountain range, plans were in place for a major knees up, the kind of celebration that both countries probably felt they'd never witness again. And yet they did. A group of Germans sat down for a jubilant dinner. I can still see and hear the clinking of beer glasses, the joy on their faces and the flickering candles on the table. It was humanity at its most civilised and a moment in time that had to be cherished.

So here we were back in circa 1989, West Ham were playing Hull City in the old Second Division and the quaint market town in Lugano, Switzerland could hardly have been less interested. It was though at its prettiest. I'm not sure who told me but somehow the West Ham result had percolated through to me. In the day before the Internet you had to look to alternative sources for your news and information. Then somebody did tell me. It was quite the most astonishing football result I'd ever heard. And even now it hardly seems credible. But to my absolute amazement it did happen.

West Ham had beaten Hull 7-1. It was nothing short of sensational and yet somehow it had taken me by complete surprise. Privately I'd hoped for a positive result against a team who were trapped in obscurity at the time but 7-1 beggared belief. I don't think I'd ever seen or experienced this feeling in football. Before your team emerge from the tunnel for a game you always believe that in the best of all possible worlds that one day a rugby or cricket score would leave you speechless and dumbfounded. But 7-1. It was too good to be true. Yet it had come to pass. Hull hammered at the home of the Hammers. The icing on a very piquant cake with loads of cream and sugar. My cup had runneth over.

What was less noteworthy at the time and probably completely overlooked was the achievement of one West Ham player. Steve Potts, an ultra reliable full back and dedicated defender, scored his one and only goal for West Ham. Now I'm not sure why that statistic has never deserted me. Potts, by his own admission, was a safe pair of hands at the back, a yeomen servant for the claret and blue of West Ham but surely that day against Hull, Potts entered the pantheon of greats for one solitary day in the history of West Ham.

So it is back in the present day that both West Ham and Hull meet up again on an early wintry December afternoon. In a sense both clubs, although on a much higher plateau than they were on that far distant day two decades ago, are still essentially kindred spirits. West Ham although more buoyant than they were last Saturday, are far from out of trouble at the wrong end of the Premier League and Hull are teetering on the precipice. It could be an uncomfortably hard and gruelling season for both teams.

This is the last footballing weekend before Christmas. There remain some very relevant West Ham related facts and figures. On Boxing Day 1963 the old First Division yielded a bumper record crop of 66 goals, a figure that may never ever be surpassed. West Ham, of course had to be one of the victims of circumstances as Blackburn accumulated eight goals at the Hammers expense. West Ham had been beaten 8-2 by a very skilful and lethal Blackburn side featuring the England winger Bryan Douglas and the honest, hard working Ronnie Clayton. On a heavy mudbath of an Upton Park pitch Blackburn tore West Ham to shreds and perhaps the Hammers only consolation was the final whistle. That couldn't have arrived quickly enough. It was the most mind blowing and demoralising of defeats for West Ham although they did achieve some measure of revenge when at Ewood Park a couple of days later, the Hammers won 3-1 against Blackburn. So there Rovers. Take that.

Then there was the Boxing Day local derby against neighbours Leyton Orient circa 1978. West Ham had only recently been relegated to the old Second Division and suddenly the neighbours had dropped in for a cup of tea and sugar. Up until that point West Ham had never been beaten by Orient but this day was entirely and shockingly different. It was almost as if the ground had been shifted from under us From my very rare vantage point on the old Upton Park Chicken Run I can still see the horror show unravelling in front of me. Orient won 2-0 and John Chiedozie sprinting the length of the Upton Park to score the easiest goal he'll ever score still sends cold shivers down my spine.

Anyway time to look out of our window again. A heavy mist and fog has once again descended on the streets, roads and cities of Britain, like the greyest of blankets. This December is turning into a tale of two contrasting halves. You might even call it a contradiction of terms. The first half of December was marvellously and stupendously mild. Sure the chill was noticeably raw at times but it was easy to believe that the Costa Blanca had now sent over its warmest current. So no complaints from any of us. Now though autumn is beginning to fade into the distance and winter is creeping stealthily over the hills and dales. It's time to dig out those thick pullovers and gloves. Or maybe not. Isn't it good to be alive? Oh absolutely. Besides it's the Strictly final and that's a must.

Outside a whitish mist hangs heavily in the air like a static curtain. The trees are like empty hands, like thin human fingers pointing in different directions. Those enormous blackbirds may have decided to up and leave for the time being and all I can hear is silence. What this country needs is one uplifting street carnival to spark it into life. Perhaps Christmas will do the trick. Or Chanukah with its jam doughnuts and abundant cholesterol. Time to go for a walk in a claret and blue wonderland. Come on West Ham United.