Skip to main content

Walk No.24

Route: Blackpool to some outer rural village...
Duration: 2 Days

When I was 13 my best friend and I were planning what to do for the forthcoming half term break at school. Should we go nocturnal or go camping?  We were unsupervised, wild and fairly unhinged but we had the self awareness to know being nocturnal would be a shit idea.
So we went camping.
We got a bus somewhere - I'm not sure we actually knew where - got off and walked until we found a dingly dell fitting the preconceived notion of what an ideal camping pitch should look like (neither of us had experienced much camping before this...).  We had with us a small Action-Man play tent, borrowed from my friend's neighbour - who we nicknamed Mark Twain for some reason - about eight jumpers each and some tinned Alphabet Spaghetti.  Maybe we had blankets, but I have a memory of being constantly cold, so I doubt it.
That night we were invaded by local boys who all smelled of ale and wouldn't leave us alone.  The weather took care of the 'tent' and we eventually relocated to squat the night in the belfry of the nearby village church.  The boys eventually got bored of our lack of femininity and exclusive private jokes (and no doubt, our unhingedness...) and left us to the night.
Early in the morning we explored the tiny village, settling down in front of the only shop to boredly await it's opening.  My friend decided to open the tins of spaghetti which were horrible and  - in what we thought was a stroke of genius - began to write out phrases on the steps with the alphabet shapes.
It wasn't long before a local policeman came to ask us to leave.  He went through the routine of asking our names.  To my horror my friend said my name and so in disgust I said hers.  He escorted us to the edge of the village, pointed us in the direction of the seedy metropolis that had spewed us forth and we began the long haul home.
To save carrying our baggage we wore all eight of the jumpers....
We arrived at her house that evening.  Sitting on her sofa with bowls in front of us (puking probably due to the untreated water we had drunk out of a brook) we watched a programme on TV where one of my all-time favourite entertainers, Tommy Cooper, died in front of us on the stage.
If I told you this was an unusual event in my childhood I would be lying.  We constantly wandered off on strange, unsafe and crazy excursions.
The reason I'm posting it here is because I want to use it as an example of remembering a journey, a walk. And look at what it is that reminds me, because despite not being able to remember exactly what the place was called that we landed upon I can tell you lots of details about the experience.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Walk No.30

Route: Plymouth Train Station to PCA
Duration: 15 Mins
Time of Day: Morning

Socks: Feet in socks, socks as objects.  Shoes, looking at all the different shoes.  As transport. Different shoes influence different gaits.

Weaponised cars:  Cars are brutal, always have been.  Lately cars have been weaponised.  Because it's so easy to kill someone with a car.

Lines: Define spacial relationships. (Lygia Clark) It's easy to see this in a cityscape.

Binary: Linear needs non-linear for definition, there is no binary in it.  Like the Foucalt liars theory, liars are just proving the existence of lies, or something like that?  And see also Lefebvre, he mixes up the binary too.

Purpose: The space is that of commuters. Back in Totnes, earlier, around 8am ish, I saw a group of lads congregating at a terrace bar/cafe all hungover, laughing and recounting the night before.  They seemed incongruous to the frame work (pattern/system) the space had now become: transit channel to work/school.  Their lei…

Walk No.29

Route: A circular walk around Totnes
Duration: An hour and a half
Time of day: Afternoon

Seagulls: I tune into the cacophony of seagulls above.  I love their sound.  It brings me back to safety.  It's familiar.  It means home, whatever that is.

Fishchowters'/Fishcheaters' Lane: Brilliant bit of walking related history - this green lane dates back to medieval times when fisher-people walked this way to the market as an alternative route to avoid paying taxes at the tollbooth.  I particularly like it because you don't often see other people....

Black Cat:   Another walking superstition.  The dog chases any luck away.  It's interesting that her fixation with the cat gives her such a strong purpose of direction, she deviates according to her desires or compulsions.

Grass: She finds another purpose.  Eating grass growing in lines through the paving stones.  Although it's disconcerting when your dog eats grass I drift off, thinking it's poetic how this grass tenaciou…

Walk No.28

Route: Home to Totnes Train Station via the riverbank
Duration: 20 Mins
Time of Day: Morning

Paul Ricoeur?:  ~reading the signs~

Projection/translation/Production: From nature to me not me to nature.  (Fulton talks about not imposing things on the site/nature.)  Fulton v Long.  In gallery, product v in situ/no product (see Tufnell and Wilson 2002)

Thumb/Finger: Still using my finger memory system.  What would fingerprints as maps, enlarged, be like? All the lines/scars on the body as maps..... lines of memory, journeys...

Polarised:  I'm working in two methods, pulling opposite ways.  Conceptual ideas made material are not expanding the research.  They're full stops on the end of a thought train.  Not process, just working to illustrate a point.  The more dynamic, unfolding processes seem to interweave theory/thought/discovery and are more like italics, gently accenting emphasis but totally integral to the meaning of the sentence.














On the run: I'm aware of an internal escaping.…