I’ve just had a haircut and have started walking back home; it’ll take about 45–minutes.
I decide to walk through an alleyway that I vaguely understand to be a shortcut,
or at least a route that provides a bit of distance from the busy causeway.
Normally I would decide against this as I’m not completely sure of the way,
but today I must be feeling less concerned about getting lost or hitting a dead–end.
There are no time constraints on me either, so I don’t worry.
[You can hear distant white noise to your left and faint bird song, perhaps somewhere behind you. There are jarring clicks as each new image appears.]
I pass through the narrow alley, crossing over a short wooden bridge above a tiny stream.
This path is shared by cyclists and pedestrians.
It snakes its way through long grass to my right,
and lush green trees that line the stream on my left.
Ahead is a large, ugly looking corporate building with a warehouse alongside it.
I don’t know what kind of business occurs in these buildings, whether they are shops or offices.
The acronym displayed front and centre doesn’t help to enlighten me.
It’s an uninspiring scene overall;
no more or less worth walking than the way I would usually -
maybe not worth having discovered at all.
[Mechanical clicks and pulsing sounds begin. You can still hear birds in the background.]
Instead of walking alongside the busy road, this new route leads me through a couple of quiet car parks -
vehicles stationary, apart from one passing lorry.
While walking this new route I begin thinking more about the mix of rural and industrial landscape here,
noticing that this combination feels more apparent lately,
intensified by the ongoing developments.
Each time I come home I am struck by them -
how they attempt to coax the town’s edges further and further outwards;
swelling, expanding.
[There are rhythmic sounds of objects moving, shifting and dropping. Your chair creeks.]
[Shuffling sounds trigger loud heavy thuds that resemble your heartbeat. They are interspersed between clicks.]
I realise that I find it quite jarring to be among this near constant state of construction,
aware that I am becoming less and less familiar with the place.
Maybe this is why I feel more inclined to explore today.
In my mind I always picture this as a small town,
feeling that I know it in its entirety.
That isn’t true though -
like everyone else, I know the places I go and have been before.
But it’s never felt big, and despite its blurring edges it still doesn’t.
[A car pulls away behind you.]
[There is an intense sound of the wind around you, and a sustained distant note. You inhale and exhale.]
The new housing developments feel very private,
like I wouldn’t be allowed to aimlessly wander around them.
People here tend to drive a lot
- everyone has a car or three on their driveway -
so these new places aren’t really made with pedestrians in mind
It looks like they lack pavements,
as if they’re questioning the desire or need to walk around.
I guess, why would you bother?
You drive right up to your house, exit your car, go through the front door.
You leave your front door, enter your car, drive away.
Contained within your private vessels.
[Mechanical clicks continue as you inhale, more gently this time.]
[The sound of the wind around you is far more intense. It is almost uncomfortable.]
I do wonder why they have to be so dull,
the same red brick boxes repeated over and over again.
It feels as though no thought has really gone into them -
no interesting or challenging questions have been asked
regarding the ways that people might like to live in towns like this,
Whether it could be done differently.
Do we still really need these plinth-like driveways
to make displays of massive four-wheel-drives?
[A sound resembling a hoover can be heard along with echoing softened clicks.]
Still, despite the loss of some fields
- hidden away behind branded hoardings -
I’ve noticed that the town does feel greener
and more alive with Spring than any other year I can remember.
The rapeseed is vibrant - practically neon.
Oversized tulips stand open and enticing in front gardens,
and the magnolia still lingers, to my surprise.
I can nearly always hear birdsong.
[The sustained note returns, clicks begin to resemble a mechanical equipment that sounds familiar.]
The notion of front gardens being a generous gift to passers-by
is something we have been talking a lot about lately.
About halfway home a large retail development has recently been built.
It’s unclear to me if it’s finished or not, but the shops are open
even though there are still corrugated metal hoardings up.
A nearby bus stop is being engulfed by metal fencing.
The whole area has been designed to be accessed via car,
so walking by it feels strange, and I’m more exposed.
I do that awkward little half run when I cross the road,
putting a hand up to thank the car driver for not running me over
as they exit the roundabout and slip into the Costa–fronted complex.
[Your chair creeks again.]
Once I’m up the hill I walk through a chase that leads me home,
passing by my old school.
Some bars in the fence have been stretched outwards
so that students can pass through them,
maybe sneaking off the premises.
It’s really hard to imagine being small enough to fit through.
I’m reminded of the time my mum relayed a story
of a childhood friend of mine getting his head wedged
between some gaps in his parents’ new dining furniture.
The chair had to be sawn apart to release him in the end.
[Another car pulls away beside you. Your heartbeat starts up again. The repetitive clicks and thuds return.]
I check my phone for the time and am surprised to see that so little has passed,
that it could be moving so slowly.