Category: High Wycombe

No city should be too large for a man to walk out of in the morning.* “Desborough Road has, in recent times, become a mythical place to me. Though often empty of humans, its pavements are occasionally trodden by those who realize that walking is the only way to know the world; and by those… Continue reading Desborough Road →

with the sun shines on all of desborough road you could say heaven smiles the chillier the climate the more i like the sun on my back if i were in jamaica or malaysia now the sun could be cruel only the shade would be merciful so why do the english like jamaica for its… Continue reading finnegans wake on the desborough road →

I often pass this public garden, fifteen minutes’ walk from home going west along the valley. It has three benches, normally unoccupied, and I’m always tempted to sit on one, and be part of the scenery. It’s as if I have a romantic notion of park benches. There’s a nice film about shenanigans on Hampstead… Continue reading Park benches →

Afam is my nephew by marriage, nearly 15, and goes to a good school where good money must be paid for the education provided. So I was asking him about that, and he told me his vocabulary had become somewhat depleted. He didn’t actually use the word “depleted”.. He explained that in earlier years he… Continue reading To a nephew →

This evening a thin fog puts a halo around the streetlamps, and I see that they are different colours, in shades from lemon to orange. A car with bluish headlamps swishes past, leaving a tangible quietness in its wake, whilst I stand under a streetlamp, letting my own footsteps relapse into a special kind of… Continue reading Theatre of Life →

It’s tempting with a digital camera to think that a picture is worth a thousand words, so you can just snap something and stick it in a blog, as if it had the power to capture the feeling which made you take the picture. But the camera’s just a soulless eye that delivers aspects of… Continue reading Backyard →

The great thing about growing plants—flowers, fruit or vegetables— is that when you grow them close together, or allow random seeds to grow, they arrange themselves. They make accommodation with one another to catch the sun, and achieve a tumbling profusion, such as we may find in wild or semi-wild places. As for my backyard,… Continue reading Nature’s profusion →

At four minutes past four a lone blackbird on a chimneypot opposite my house starts his song, tentative but persistent. The sky is lightening, he tells the world. This is no time to stay unconscious. Because he speaks in blackbird language, I don’t really know the meaning of his telling, but only guess that his… Continue reading Dawn song →

I’ve been meaning to write more about happiness, but the topic is elusive to say the least and it seems there has not been enough time. I wasn’t sure until yesterday what this meant (what interval of unbroken time would be enough?), but this morning, rising at 4.30 in the morning I know even more… Continue reading Unsayable →

I went to a church service today, the first time for many years. It was Remembrance Sunday, commemorating war dead, a civic occasion, as my photos illustrate, with attendance by the Mayor, Member of Parliament, police chief, local Air Force chief and so on; with a band (sea cadets), a saluting platform, wreaths placed at… Continue reading Remembrance Sunday →

Days pass. Not much wayfaring and not much writing. The two are connected. I had promised to dedicate a post to Lady in Red, who writes “I love it when you describe the places you walk through, bringing it alive for those of us who can only imagine both the countryside and the industrial areas… Continue reading Then and Now →

The night is full of mysteries. They haunt us when we can't sleep, and there's no one to share them with. That's what prompts me to write here. Meanwhile dawn is coming, sheds light on this side of Earth. The mysteries aren't illuminated, they merely vanish. Dawn blushes red now, over yonder hill. I draw… Continue reading Resuming normality →

I shall take you on a guided tour of my part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This area of the Chilterns has plenty of beech… Continue reading Guided tour of the neighbourhood →

A bird in a cage sings more sweetly, they used to say; and no one is more lyrical than the exile. Now that I have come home from exile, able to build a nest in freedom - that is to say bought a cosy little house - I've not written a thing. Plenty of excuses… Continue reading Our own nest →

Any time now I expect to be cut off from home internet service while Telecomms does its laborious adjustments from one provider to another. I won't be able to upload photos from the internet cafe so here are two views: the first from the main bedroom window of my new (old) house and the second… Continue reading Views from our house →

As a scholarship boy I had responsibility for the younger boarders On Easter Sunday morning, on a quest for ginger, garlic and matches, I walk up Oakridge Road, on its sunny side. The reality all around me is more than I can take in: so many details! Everything has a meaning, but how can I… Continue reading Easter Reverie →