Following the first night walk on the 21st December we sent out a call for participants' stories, here are some of them
I'm not actually a good walker (I'd rather be in a coach full of arsenal fans singing christmas carols with a brick on the accelerator) so it was great to have incentives from the start. I was actually just looking forward to the soup bit and found myself surprised that I really enjoyed just walking and chatting. The thing is I didn't have to concentrate on where I was going because I was following people so it is probably the most relaxing evening on the run up to christmas I've ever had!
I remember 'neck face' as interesting, I supposed everybody noticed it, maybe cause of the architectural prominence, but I suddenly felt self conscious about my neck. I suppose I should have been noticing my surroundings but the whisky made me chatty. I must say I did remember looking up from my conversation a couple of times and finding myself in some intriguing alleyways. I felt a sense of safe displacement when we got to 'soup underpass'. It didn't feel like london anymore. I think it could have been any time or place. The smell of gas was quite prominent at one point and that's how I recognized we were back on the main road. It was a bit like being in a gang but lawful without intent. © Michelle Korda, 2005
|It was somewhere between walking to work, a dream and a party. The brazier under the bridge is the image that most clearly stands out. Associations of a picket, the miners' strike in the 80s. A demonstration. It almost felt like direct action. Reclaiming something. The right to walk in such a place at night? Not as definite as that. But it felt exciting to inhabit that spot. Safety in numbers. It made me think of the three of you, individually, walking in the weeks before. Your courage. Women walking alone.
It also had associations with homelessness. Soup kitchens. The comfort of soup on a cold night. We all have homes. The ironies of needing to look for uninhabited places, or places we don't usually inhabit - at least in that way - to find a feeling of creative destination. Does that make any sense? I felt supported and 'at home' surrounded by other people involved in creative projects which was closely tied with the venue being so marginal and unhomely. Perhaps it's about a need for movement - walking - a change of scene but needing companions on the way.
Chris had a story from that night. There was a metal gate leading into? an allotment, some kind of walled garden or abandoned ground. Uninhabited, even by day. Then he stepped on something, soft, heavy, yielding. A wet cushion? He reacted with horror. For a moment, it felt like ... © Juliette Adair 2006
|Chalk text - anon. (reads: I though I might write something here secretly after my soup and with the warmth of the fire and company.|
|send your stories, anecdotes, images and observations from the walk to: firstname.lastname@example.org|