Wednesday, 19 January 2011


it has developed into a kind of routine
we meet as usual just before noon
on neutral territory
in the railway station concourse of a yorkshire town
we exchange the usual banter
and pull out of the station
heading uncertainly uphill
to where we intuit the centre of town to be
the conversation struggles into gear
as we struggle uphill
our exchanges following the contours of the topography
the opening out of the public spaces
the respite of the landmarks
the twists and turns of the streets
we pause momentarily beside a grand fountain
in the middle of a civic square
we get lost up blind alleys
we go round in circles
we lose our bearings
we are like wandering hobos
we have no particular direction nor destination
we seek out no sights or visitor attractions
we simply follow our noses
the wind adds to our sense of dislocation
blowing us this way and that
more than once it whips my hat into the air
though thankfully the rain holds off the time being
occasionally we venture indoors out of the elements
lunch finds us ensconced in the blue moon cafe by the cathedral
an atmospheric veggie/vegan haunt
under carved white plaster arches bearing the high ceiling aloft
over our food we talk about ideas and theories
the books we have read
the documentaries we have seen
the ideas we have experimented with
after further perambulations
we duck inside a cafe
and finally stumble upon and through water stones
just before closing time
suddenly we find ourselves back in the station concourse
shaking hands and parting
until who knows when
(the summer?)
as we head our separate ways through the bustling evening throng

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