Argentinos Juniors  2  Chacarita Juniors  1

Chacarita is the next neighbourhood to mine, dominated by a huge cemetery. The club that bears its name moved to the San Martin area some years ago but the local graffiti confirms that it still has a lot of fans in the area.

I like it. It’s what estate agents call ‘up and coming,’ mostly because it’s got a couple of cafes with French-sounding names.  A few weeks ago, the taxi I was in dropped a friend there after a match. As we turned the corner the GPS spoke. “You are leaving a dangerous area,” it said. “Dangerous?!!!!”  I retorted, with as many exclamation marks as I could muster.

“It’s getting like Colombia here,” explained the taxi driver, with that tone of knowledgeable resignation that taxi drivers the world over do to perfection.

I cut him short. “What? Like two well-armed guerrilla armies, drug cartels, kidnapping, right-wing militias, hit-men on motor-bikes, tens of thousands of refugees and displaced people and millions of dollars of US military aid? And Shakira? Have you got Shakira?”

“Well no,” he stuttered. “But it’s getting like that.” I can tell you that Argentina is not like Colombia. But the general perception is that it is. Crime is on the rise and the graphic tales in the daily newspapers of murder, mayhem and mutilation certainly fuel that feeling.

Pretty much all the homes in Buenos Aires have metal bars on their windows and doors. And the middle class areas and upwards have security guards in plastic boxes stationed on the corners.

A regular on our street is Horacio, an Independiente fan, who likes to practice his few words of English on me.

Another trend for those who can afford it is to move to what they call ‘countries’ – walled and guarded housing estates, far removed from the real world.

There have been a spate of robberies, sometimes violent, in recent weeks of houses in these ‘countries,’ and it’s suspected that the security guards, poorly paid ex-policemen with families and large bellies to support, may have provided information about the people they’re guarding. They must, after all, have plenty to steal or they wouldn’t have moved into a ‘country.’

Here are just a few examples from the past days of crime in and around Buenos Aires:

* A police lieutenant, Marcelino Monzon, shot dead by a couple of youths who were trying to steal the motorbike he used to get to work. He was very popular in the neighbourhood where he worked and hundreds marched to demand justice when they learnt of his death.

* A fifteen-year old boy stabbed to death outside a disco in an argument involving his sixteen-year-old ex-girlfriend. Four teenagers, including the ex-girlfriend, have been arrested.

* Thieves, posing as posing as postmen, broke into a house in one of the above-mentioned ‘countries’ and tied up and beat a woman and her teenage children before escaping with money and kitchen appliances. A neighbour alerted the police and the thieves fled.

They’re crimes similar to those committed around the world but they seem to provoke greater fear in Buenos Aires. When I’m not prowling the mean streets of Chacarita, I’m lurking with intent on dark corners in the east London borough of Hackney. It too has a reputation but I’ve found that if I pull my West Ham woolie hat over my eyebrows and hum the team anthem, I’m left well alone.

Another of my nifty security ploys is to place a Green poster on prominent display in a front window. That strongly implies that the owner is likely to own a bicycle rather than a BMW, will indulge in macramé rather than be watching a state-of-the-art LCD TV and will be wearing faded Guatemalan ankle bracelets rather than gold jewellery with many carats.

I keep hearing talk in Argentina of a golden era when everyone left their doors unlocked and the neighbours were in and out of each others’ homes. But ask yourself – would you want to come home from a tough day at the office, looking forward to a cold beer in front of Boca Juniors v Velez Sarsfield on the tele, to find Juan from next door eating your favourite biscuits and whingeing about litter on the streets? Give me locked doors and bars on the windows any day of the week.

Crime is an issue in Buenos Aires. So much so that the city government has just launched its own police force, we think to work side by side with the existing national force, but we’re not sure. When we’re robbed – and the locals tell me it’s only a matter of time – I’ll call both to see which one arrives first.

The situation is much the same across Latin America. The gap between rich and poor grows ever wider, more and more rural dwellers are arriving in the cities to swell the already bursting shanty towns, crime does rise but the paranoia of the middle and upper classes soars disproportionately and ever more drastic security measures are adopted.

Buenos Aires is a long way from Colombia. But I tell you, that West Ham hat pulled down tight over my head and a badly out of tune rendition of “I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles” ensures me two free seats to myself on the late night bus home from the Argentinos Juniors stadium.

And I was singing tonight after a fantastic game which saw the Red Bugs, for now at least, in second place, just two points behind the leaders, Independiente. The home side’s Facundo Coria scored a couple of first half belters from outside the box. The team then rolled out a whole series of exquisite moves but managed, unbelievably, to miss a hatful of chances.

It was then inevitable that Chacarita would pull one back then leave us biting our nails, pacing nervously across the terraces and pulling our hair out while we waited for a final whistle we thought would never come. I almost started smoking.

The atmosphere at this game was tremendous, thanks to both sets of fans. It’s custom in Argentina for the away fans to leave straight after the final whistle while the home fans are kept behind for twenty minutes or so. I sometimes feel this is a basic infringement of my human rights, especially if my dinner’s on the table. But it does prevent clashes.

As the very raucous Chacarita fans trailed out, the home supporters applauded them and some of the departing spectators reciprocated. “What a fine body of human beings,” I thought to myself, tears welling up in my eyes! All perhaps is not lost.