Mary Braid: A city in everything but name

On the terraces of Crystal Palace stadium, borrowed by homeless Wimbledon Football Club for its home games, devoted fans once pledged to be Wombles until they died. Now that Wimbledon club executives have revealed plans to relocate from south London to a spanking new stadium, 60 miles north in Star Trekkish, 1970s new town Milton Keynes – turning every match into an away game – the Wombles are screaming betrayal and vowing never to show.

Milton Keynes' citizens, however, have been rather more upbeat. They believe the decision will give added force to their campaign for city status. The stadium, when built, will be a stunning addition to the town's huge pop arena, new theatre and art gallery, and its impressive new indoor ski slope, 170 metres long and covered by real, fluffy, all-year-round snow. Less impressive is Xscape, the ugly grey armadillo-shaped building where the ski slope is housed.

I say town. In fact, Milton Keynes has been calling itself a city since it was born. Others joked about its concrete cow sculptures and grid system of roads, oiled by hundreds of roundabouts; Milton Keynes, they said, was a sci-fi experiment, destined to fail. Even today, driving into town is an eerie experience, for the buildings and citizens are mostly invisible in a construction so orderly that even the ducks by the artificial lake seem to huddle in a perfect circle.

Everyone is housed in discreet micro-neighbourhoods, shielded from traffic and each other by hundreds of thousands of trees. The town is so folded in on itself that to see people in any great numbers, you must take to the vast malls or the warren of underpasses.

Love it or hate it (I'm actually rather partial), Milton Keynes, the last and perhaps most successful of the 20th century new towns, has thrived despite the jokes. It continues to acquire and expand, doggedly pursuing its ambitions to be great. It never bothered with the required royal permission to call itself a city. And who can blame it? Until recently, the Queen was sparing with the favour, and when she did bestow it, no one was sure what criterion she used.

There are 61 cities in the UK but nothing, in particular, seems to link places like Cambridge, Wolverhampton and the tiny St David's. Norman Miles, the leader of the Labour group on Milton Keynes Council puts it bluntly. "On what criterion was Sunderland (plucked from townly obscurity in 1992) selected?" he asks, eyebrows raised high. The elevation to city status of Brighton and Hove, Wolverhampton and Inverness to mark the Millennium also puzzled many. For all that was known about the process, the Queen might have been pulling names from a hat, or shutting her eyes and shoving a pin in a map.

Considering the title of city was bestowed only 14 times in the last century, the Queen, encouraged by New Labour, has gone mad. For her Golden Jubilee, next year, she is creating four more cities. There are 36 towns, including Milton Keynes, vying for the honour. Criterion guidelines – including a preference for towns with significant regional or national features and a forward-looking attitude (surely more New Labour than Windsorspeak) – have just been published for the first time, though the whole business remains pretty woolly. What seems ludicrously archaic – given the economic benefits that the wannabees insist that city status can bring – is the preference for towns that have royal connections.

But the game is being played without too many questions being asked about the rules. Chris Randall, the owner of a cafe in the cavernous belly of the grey armadillo, says city status will help Milton Keynes's current "rebranding" campaign. "Milton Keynes has been ridiculed for years for not being a real place, but it has changed enormously," says Mr Randall. His cafe manager, Donna Digweed, 32, has spent her whole life watching the town grow. "We deserve city status," she says. "It's about time we had the recognition. We were so disappointed last time round."

What does she think about Luton, 19 miles and three junctions south on the MI, also seeking city status? "I think it's a dive. But then I suppose that's what people in Luton say about this place." They don't, actually. Though, by God, they certainly aren't fans.

I glided into the centre of Milton Keynes but, of course, I crawl into Luton town centre on roads never meant for 21st century traffic. Whereas the surface of Milton Keynes is as smooth as a baby's skin, Luton is calloused, carbuncled and crammed. Milton Keynes's surface reveals nothing of the time before 1970, whereas Luton's skin is shot through with holes from which poke the relics of previous centuries. To many, of course, this – not flawless modernity – is Britain's charm.

The two towns – which have roughly equivalent populations of about 200,000 – perhaps share the need of the ridiculed for the reassurance that high status can bring. Milton Keynes cannot shake off its infamous concrete cows. Luton cannot quite ditch the naff image fostered by the old TV ad for Campari in which actress Lorraine Chase, when asked if she has just wafted in from paradise, says, in a Cockney accent, "No – Luton Airport." Luton, in transition from heavy engineering town into hi-tech service centre, wants to be rid of its reputation as a rough old place. Locals say it has not been helped by the close proximity of modern, sleeker, smoother, richer Milton Keynes.

"There's not much love lost between the towns," said a local woman. "Milton Keynes has always managed to get facilities we haven't got. It's always had shedloads of money. They just have to open the doors and another Japanese company floats in." Luton, which is emphasising its own new business park, its expanding airport and its new university, seems to feel it has always had to work harder for its breaks. Not that they have lost their sense of humour. "They have that ski centre, but we make out own entertainment in Luton," the woman says. "Once every ten years it snows and then we get the tea trays out and slide down the Chilterns."

Last time round, in the Millennium city competition, it was Luton, not Milton Keynes, that was the bookies' favourite. And it does score high on Royal connections; it is home to the Royal train. But then, the Queen spent the first days of her honeymoon in stately Luton Hoo house. Luton hopes she still remembers that fondly. Fundamentally, as a leader in the local Herald and Post newspaper last week said, for Luton the most important aspect of becoming a city is beating Milton Keynes.