Under blister-pack clouds of fanfare
I headed to the middle of nowhereSkirting the floundering ‘hood I limbered up down Seedly
And passed through the stone arch pillars of a rambling English Victorian boulevard
Where dogs and two more runners and a coven of kids at play
Lit up in the leaves with a fleeting light
That broke through the eaves of the cheated night
And bounced off the safe-play swings just right
At least for this time of day
On Edward Avenue dawn announced herself in earnest
And a light breeze skiffed and skewered my descent
Past Innings Court and The old Weaste Hotel
At Tootal where on a right turn I got amongst the bus stops and workmen and road cones
And dads mowing lawns to where that sideroad meets the listing bend of Eccles Old Road
Vehicles whooshed past me like deadlines apart from those line-queueing for traffic light systems
A lolly-pop lady shepherding the school horde
Doing everything she can
Giggle-pitch screams from a gaggle of teens
Hot-boxing in a Vauxhall van
I waited for a gap in the cars and buses and made it across to the tall slanting willows outside the old folks home where a bank of Elm trees inspired someone to call the place ElmBank
The opposite kerb
Next door a pair of nurses, having made the crossing in time with me, headed into a loose-knit pile of student flats that used to stand as a merchant manse when horses carried in-crowds askance and folks did a Mayday Morris dance
Beneath me now, my first sample of good footing
Wide, regular paving for three hundred yards on an eloquent, beckoning undulation
That dipped and rose and crested and fell softly and weaved around and tilted
Which, when combined with the breeze provided me with the
Fastening sensation of fairground rides
My mind was already pulling away from my body
The long run came upon me, again
Just three blocks shy of Half Edge Lane
I sunk into the curve of the hill and skeltered up it
Nestled like a puppet and bounding past Ivy Mount, Oak Mount and Clarendon Cottage Prep School
Mental placeholders I bond with a little more each day, may be representing the growth I sought
Allendsby House. Monica Court.
Dodging entanglements with branch overhangs, or so I thought
I wound under, free, at Wendover Court
Before Monks Hall Grove had me trooping down past the cricket ground and into the village on the verge of a beckoning dell
Via a conspiracy of leafy middle class crescents named after the landed gentry
Knee-deep in dukedoms and earls and the good King George himself
Consorts and Marquis and lords and great families
From Clarendon to Claremont to Cavendish to Cholmondeley
I pondered Viscount Malpas in his Cheshire castle, glumly
On these quaint seats before digesting estates worthy of investing
My locked down, distant social eyes
Took a slice out of Sandwich
At Westminster I stared at “this house” feeling like the opposition on a motion and noted Ellesmere and Stafford and Normanton and Snowdon
Oh Lord!
The latter a surprise
Yet even stretches of Antony Armstrong-Jones euphoria
Simply could not topple the ubiquitous Victoria
Park, Street, Road, benches
That Queen and her waiting wenches
Were out to be seen as I reached the church green
And took refuge from a fresh belt of hail in the Old Man’s Shelter
A rarified rowdy bunch, all walking sticks and tongues were getting their morning chats worth at Devonshire
No going back now - I could never readjust to the old me - swept over my soul when Georgian glass-leaded bays crept into view as I leapt upon Algernon Avenue
And the clubhouse at the end of the golf course was rinsed in jaded racing greens:
The principal effect of leeward light bouncing off the chaste steeple
Corrugate beams
I stamped in puddles on purpose and then shimmied off the path
Under blossom trees
My footprints leaving a trail of wet white petals on the lawn grass thereafter
Where I rejoined the suggested pedestrian route
And in no time took a sharp right up the banks of a dramatic landscaped levee
Past pretty rockeries and tendered flower beds and a pair of stone seats fitted into the gradient shelf that was presently occupied by a couple wearing kagools and wide grins
Until this moment many were taking the air and enjoying the view
But then darkness fell and the rain belted without compromise yet still I was taken aback
By the sheer speed at which everyone simply disappeared
I’ll not gainsay it
The weather was on my side as I hit the old loop line where the railway once began
Disused station platforms rose on either side of me a mile or two in and I ran through a cutting tunnel
Propelled by nothing at all, no less
This locomotive emptiness
Later, scamping through the woods like a lad
I stretched out on a log where dense trees gave way to a copse of sorts
Down by the old Warke Dam opposite the bird house
And I nodded and smiled at local families, fellow runners and dog walkers
All newly emergent since the sun took charge of the sky once more
Behind the Nailmaker’s Shop I skipped the alphabet bridge
And opened up along the towpath of the red canal from the Barton Arms
Rejoining the road after Duke's Drive near The Bluebell and retracing earlier steps I had time
And energy to take in the shop signs
Baffoon frontages: the post-modern sluts of artisan;
Six Penny Diner, Blacksticks, Playfoots, The Urban Village Eatery, Twig
Twisted Elegance, The Blind Pig
Village Ambience,
Leo’s
The Naz
And an unassuming small quadratic bar next to a dry cleaners, more to my taste that was called The Monton Tap
Which, amidst the weekend bustling crowds stood empty as an upwardly mobile outlier
Like the girl with the harelip that no one wants to kiss, said Philip
I pulled up, went in and ordered a beer
And headed to the middle of now here
gK
