West Ham, the Premier League and snow in London.

West Ham, the Premier League and snow in London.

Well, we knew it would arrive sooner or later but had no idea when. It was always on the cards and the chances are it'll continue doing this for the rest of the day. Ladies and Gentleman I give you snow. Yes here in North London great building skips of snow are falling from metallic grey and white skies with a seriousness of intent London has rarely seen on this scale for years. In fact I'm not sure I can remember a snowfall of such insistence and persistence since who knows when.

We awoke this morning to skies of snow laden, Christmas card beauty, the kind of snow most of us thought we'd never see again. We flung open our curtains and blinds and found that, wonder of wonders, the meteorological phenomenon known as thick snow was pouring from ashen faced skies. In recent years snow has been fairly thin on the ground so to speak so its sudden return after a fairly lengthy absence came as something of a shock particularly since the last time it snowed like this most of us thought we'd never see it properly again for some time.

But here we are again on a winter wonderland and London looks positively beautiful, a decorative marzipan cake of thick white snow and here on a pre-Christmas Sunday it may snow for the duration of the day. Admittedly, the kids are going to have a ball but for those of us who may find walking something of a challenge it's best to smile resignedly, stare out of the dining room window and just be grateful that you don't really have to venture out that far. The trains and buses may grind to a standstill but hey make yourself a hot toddy, sup some heart warming bowls of tomato soup and dream that white may well be the predominant colour for a number of hours.

Outside a strange silence has descended over Manor House as people go about their daily lives, footsteps crunching deeply into the ground, footsteps bounding forward heroically towards some destination where the snow has turned into slush. In fact if you find yourself at Manor House Tube station you'll be confronted with small puddles of wet slush and the remnants of a brief rain shower.

Yesterday though proved to be a victorious day for West Ham United. There were never any indications that it would snow at all so it may have been just as well that the London derby between the Hammers and Chelsea went ahead because if it hadn't I'd have probably wondered whether this claret and blue follower would ever see his team win again this year. At long last then West Ham finally found themselves on the right end of a win rather than dwelling on what might have been.

Saturday lunchtimes were normally reserved for copious drinking at the Boleyn pub when Upton Park was our kind and generous sanctuary. They downed just a couple of swift amber libations, sang some hearty renditions of 'Bubbles' and then marched confidently towards the Boleyn Ground for either devastating anti climaxes, narrow defeats, moderately impressive victories or just a wretched afternoon of missed open goals, shots that shook the crossbar and those that were agonisingly kicked off the line.

This Saturday lunchtime though was different for the claret and blue loyalists. At long last West Ham suddenly became aware of their deeply worrying run of defeats which had seen them fall quite perilously into the relegation zone. For those who have seen this unravelling before West Ham's struggles are nothing new. Sometimes you always know what you might be getting with our friendly East London club but yesterday felt as if the worm had actually turned.

After an encouraging 2-1 defeat at runaway Premier League leaders Manchester City at the Etihad Stadium the doom and gloom mongers were groaning with unrelieved despondency. The end of the world has been nigh for those of a claret and blue shade but against Chelsea yesterday West Ham recognised the enormity and gravity of their current plight. It didn't look good and it wasn't pretty at all. But West Ham proudly puffed out their collective chests and shook the foundations of Chelsea's apparently fruitless attempt at holding onto their Premier League title.

These have been difficult times for West Ham and when Slaven Bilic left the club recently, it was felt that a new broom at the London Stadium would only sweep up the dust and debris of crumbling masonry. Then there was David Moyes and the man once recommended by Sir Alex Ferguson for the Manchester United hot seat now finds himself in an East End stew. This could turn into the longest season for West Ham this winter and if they should see the cuckoos of early spring with a clear head then the West Ham fans may come to regard this moment in their season as just a passing phase.

Now though Moyes is in charge and the claret and blue pullover was accompanied by the neatest claret and blue tie. It was never like this as a Celtic player and although his successful spell as Everton manager may well mark him down as a good, go-ahead coach with innovative ideas the reality at West Ham is entirely different. Moyes was never a fire fighter but at Manchester United the raging flames were too hot to handle.

Still, West Ham, for what seemed too many Premier League encounters, did now click into gear, re-discovering their old zest and passion without allowing themselves to be completely overwhelmed by a Chelsea side whose comfort in possession threatened to take overall control of the game. Chelsea stroked the ball around all of the important areas of the pitch with an elegance and simplicity that reminded you of Manchester City's passing fest against West Ham last Sunday.

This time though Chelsea appeared to assume so many snotty and superior airs that Antonio Conte must have thought that a cricket score would be in the offing once his players had stepped onto the London Stadium pitch. There was an air of snooty condescension about Chelsea that West Ham thought deeply abhorrent and distasteful. How the middle and upper classes of Kensington turn up their noses at those East London upstarts. Tell them to clean the parlour downstairs and make sure they do it thoroughly.

Once again Chelsea looked to their knowledgeable architect Eden Hazard to dribble his way beautifully his way through a furiously retreating West Ham defence. Hazard spent most of his lunchtime haplessly weaving and scheming around the pitch like a feisty terrier searching for that elusive bone. But when the likes of Pedro, sub Victor Moses and striker Morata failed to find that smooth goal scoring touch, manager Conte slowly paced his technical area like a frustrated Italian painter looking for some kind of old masterpiece.

Frequently Chelsea were almost toying with their hosts. White shirts swarmed around claret and blue with pinball machine, one touch football that left most of the West Ham players circling Chelsea rather like pigeons swooping from one rooftop to the next. Chelsea tapped the ball around sweetly to each other but the passes invariably ended up in a no go cul de sac. West Ham were never remotely fazed by this blizzard of passing movements. The game was far from up for the Hammers.

From the beginning West Ham lunged at the opposition, surged forward in huge numbers, attacked positively and were much more sure footed than has been the case in their last three Premier League games. There was a spirit and heart about the home team that had undoubtedly gone missing for most of the season. Their football, admittedly had none of the finesse and breeding that their opponents could proudly boast. But then this was entirely expected given West Ham's recent defensive ailments.

This time though the disciplined defensive quartet of Angelo Ogbonna, Aaron Cresswell, Pablo Zabaleta and Winston Reid all obeyed their rule books, stuck rigidly to their allotted roles and tightened up the rusty bolts of West Ham defence. Notably, there was Arthur Masuaku, a full back heavily equipped with his very own box of tricks, deceptive turns of pace and a player who looked hell bent on opening up Chelsea without any prompting. Masuaku kept wriggling and wiggling his way along the touchline, in and out of a posse of white Chelsea shirts.

In midfield West Ham welcomed back their gallant captain Mark Noble into their first team squad. Noble is now approaching that 30 plus landmark when thoughts of retirement and carriage clocks may, fleetingly, cross his mind. Once again Noble was at his hustling, bustling, chasing, champing at the bit best and biting his teeth into tackles with some ferocity. His is a wholehearted commitment to the game that is wonderfully admirable in these days of short term contracts and loans. Football has a lot to thank the likes of Noble. It has few better role models.

Alongside Noble there was the ever willing and powerful Pedro Obiang, not exactly a Trevor Brooking or Martin Peters but Obiang does a great deal of brick laying and hod carrying. Yesterday Obiang was sharp, energetic, aware, useful, constantly scurrying and scampering before releasing the most sensible pass as and when required.

After only 10 minutes West Ham took the lead. The goal scorer was the one man who West Ham had spent a colossal £25 million on during the summer and then discovered they may have unearthed just a muddy coin and a broken vase. Marko Arnautovic, Stoke City's free scoring forward and winger, landed in the East End and unreasonable hopes were pinned on the Austrian attacker. You suspect that Austria's early 20th century managerial maestro Hugo Meisl would have turned his head away in disgust.

Still it all came good for Arnautovic. In a a dizzying, giddy sequence of short, snappy passes involving Lanzini, Antonio and Arnautovic twice, the ball was rolled into the path from Lanzini's lovely return pass and Arnautovic swept the ball past Chelsea keeper Courtois. It was the goal from heaven that the West Ham faithful must have longed for so long. The Austrian forward dived into the crowd to receive the acclaim of the West Ham faithful. Game on for West Ham.

For almost the remainder of the first half West Ham had now become locked up in their own half  like a prowling tiger in its cage. Chelsea surrounded West Ham with pass after pass of sheer quality and it must have seemed only a matter of time before the Blues would be on level terms. Those delicately precise passing movements were just too good to be true. But wherever Eden went there was indeed a visible Hazard.

West Ham packed the middle of the pitch with huge claret and blue fences, well protected stockades and barriers that were simply impenetrable. Chelsea strolled and pottered around the London Stadium like university students on a freshers week. There were so many pockets of space for Chelsea to exploit that an equaliser for Chelsea had to come sooner or later. But the pockets were sewn up, Antonio Conte's face became a permanent scowl and private excuses were beginning to mount up. Poor Chelsea hey! Conte blamed tiredness but there were few sympathisers. Maybe they should have thought about an early night rather than a list of grievances the length of the Kings Road.

By the hour mark Chelsea decided that Willian would be the cure for their continuing woes. The Brazilian did add touch of cunning and craft to Chelsea's midfield but when their second sub Victor Moses came on it looked as if the West London side were clutching at straws. Moses had been loaned to West Ham in their final year at Upton Park and certainly looked the part. Now Moses had nothing to offer but sweat, toil and labour. It had now become far too late on in the day for redemption.

A decisive victory for West Ham felt like a mirage at first. Then there was the sudden realisation that Chelsea can only hope that the teams above them will falter astonishingly. A top four place seems to be the most realistic objective for Conte's shell shocked team. Last season Chelsea played football of the silkiest material but now can only rely on loose threads, flimsy fabrics and a ragged piece of blue cotton. Sadly this season is rapidly turning into a tale of moody Blues and while the title may be a faint and receding hope the truth is that Chelsea may have to be content with something rather more low key than a Premier League title.

It is hard to wonder how West Ham's season will now pan out for them. On Wednesday Arsenal pay their second visit to the London Stadium and it still seems like salvation is some away for the Hammers. Last season Alexis Sanchez. Mesut Ozil and Aaron Ramsey played havoc with a careless West Ham defence and inflicted a heavy 5-1 victory over the hosts. If the snows don't get to West Ham by Wednesday then the Arsenal cannons may well get there first. Still, who knows. the man from Austria may well have the last laugh. You never know.