churchyard benches by katharine eastman
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ambient-ish thing very similar to the ones I was doing during that recent binge - very similar indeed - but maybe not quite as good, although the more I hear it the more I like it - and I was drunk then and am sober now and that does affect pretty much everything
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Yesterday it was time for a bit of a walk - so off to Chichester Marina - oh the lure of anywhere with plenty of free easy parking - one of the most important criteria when deciding all of my movements in life. The plan was to walk to the heart of Chichester - about 4 miles - and mooch about and then walk back.
I was alone. Last time I did this walk was a few weeks ago with my girlfriend. We've now split up. As is always the way, we probably like each other more now than we did then - and that was a lot - a real lot. But she wanted more, and I wanted things to stay the same. The usual thing.
Last time the tide was out and we walked along the shoreline. This time I was more inland - heading towards Apuldram. The day was hot and cloudless and utterly beautiful and made me feel dumb that I'd thought to bring a jumper. The wheat so brown, the corn so high, the sunflowers so happy - all that stuff we saw in the Ladybird Books - it's all still there, it's all still the same.
It usually takes me about half an hour before the happy-walking-drugs start kicking in. But yesterday early-morning they kicked in right from the off. This has definitely been the best year for butterflies for decades. Odd, because this summer has mainly been so cold and grey. Obviously - the butterflies have been nothing like in our childhoods.
But I really noticed yesterday how the farmers were laying aside lots of land and even fields just to thistles and ragwort and to letting nature rip. Things like that feel better now than they did 30 years ago. And yesterday was my first big wild blackberry day - big and hot in the sun. Hurrah for a temporary end to having to pay bloody two quid for seven supermarket blackberries.
I'd just stuffed half a bar of 100% dark chocolate into my mouth when a beautiful jogger came round the bend and slowed - maybe maybe oh-maybe to speak - but after her "Morning" all I could do was make demented inarticulate groans through a paralysing mouthful of gunk. She jogged on.
Walking to Apuldram church requires a tiny bit of road walking close to it, but then you turn off left and up the very narrow lane and there, beyond the second of the few Pandemic Camp Sites that I passed yesterday, is the church, dark and not really memorable. My ex and I have probably had a million lunches together sitting on benches in churchyards - it seems to be our favourite picnic attraction.
One green metal bench in the shadiest corner. Then off towards the water and up to the church of St Peter & St Mary Fishbourne - a sunnier and more beautiful church, with at least three benches around it.
I didn't stop. On to the heart of Chichester. The last time my ex and I did this journey we didn't know about the subway under the A27 - and because there is no other nearby way of crossing the dual carriageway we winged it and truly came close to death - the last time I'd been so fucking irresponsible was when I climbed that Scottish mountain in the rain in just trainers and t-shirt without a map or anything, carrying my wife's ashes.
We managed one carriageway, with just a few hoots from van drivers who decided not to kill us at the last second. On the other carriageway a kind juggernaut driver took up both lanes and slowed to a stop to let us cross. A wonderful varied magnificent world, and life, well worth hanging on to.
Anyway, yesterday I found the subway and the sweet cheerful walk into friendly Chichester. The usual things, except less so. When my ex and I used to hit Chichester we'd do their brilliant Oxfam Books and the other charity shops (not as expensive as you might expect, but not as good as e.g. Eastleigh or even Portswood) and then Kim's bookshop - me wanting to spend more time in these places, my ex wanting to spend less - she was never one for second-hand stuff - so guess we were more incompatible than I'd realised.
Then we'd do the Montezuma shop. Then our favourite eating place - the Fat Fig - which looks horribly bland and corporate from the outside but is wonderful and nearly-real and delicious inside. We'd walk round the beautiful Bishop's Gardens over by the Cathedral, and maybe go inside so i could tell her yet again about the Larkin poem etc etc - and yesterday I did hardly any of that.
A beautiful butterfly book in Kim's bookshop, and the usual slew of incredible chamber/solo/choral CDs in Oxfam Books. I gave my never-worn-by-me jumper to a charity shop - ludicrous on days like this that such things (jumpers) exist.
And then time to walk back to the Marina. Passing close to the big Tesco, I went in and bought what I thought were healthy fruity things. Then under the A27 and back to the churchyard at St Peter & St Mary Fishbourne, to sit on the bench photo'd above and read my book and eat the healthy fruits and things I'd got in Tesco but they tasted like shit - as they should after having stuffed myself on real live country blackberries earlier.
Oh well. It was now afternoon and there were more people about. But everyone is so friendly. I can sometimes get a bit glum at how much busier the countryside and footpaths are now than they were 40 years ago, or even than last year. But you only need to remember that two hundred years ago, before everyone was herded into the misery of our cities, the countryside was packed with people, and things have hardly changed at all.
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(recorded last night, photo yesterday the churchyard at St Peter & St Mary Fishbourne)
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