Do you ever sit and ask yourself… ‘just how the fuck did I ever find myself here?’?

I feel as though I have trodden a very strange path… like I found an overgrown footpath that started down the back of some houses and led out into some fields and down the edges of woods and just kept going with no direction and no ending. Distracting, hard going, just kind of lost…the way back has overgrown again and it’s impassable. I’m out here with the crows and the jackdaws, rabbits, deer and woodpeckers, there’s skulls of sheep and insects and mad pheasants. Occasionally the path will veer down the back of an industrial estate on the edge of town, sometimes it will even pass through town, but there’s never an opportunity to turn back, it always ends up, more often than not, at the edge of a field along side a wood.

There was one time that me and my brother walked to Silchester. Why, I don’t remember. We’d often do things like that. I have since learned that my brother used to bunk college and go for walks. Do you know where Silchester is? Mr. Loader, my school art teacher, lived out that way I think. Anyway, we’d walk using the bridleways and footpaths rather than roads, old roman roads. On the way back one time we were skirting around this enormous golden field of wheat just northwest of Bramley, it was a boiling hot day with one of those great big blue Hampshire skies that I remember so fondly, the bridleway was dry and dusty, and we were stopped by this lad, he must have been about 14 or 15 maybe, his hair was big and curly and matted and he had crusty snot and food on his upper lip which was strewn with a straggly pubescent moustache. He was dressed in those kind of slippery tracksuit bottoms you used to get though he had either had them handed down or he was growing out of them because his ankles were on show, with sockless feet thrust into frayed black trainers. He was clearly someone with developmental difficulties, and we weren’t really sure if he might have been a threat, perhaps violent – it’s not a good thing that we were so afraid of him, but in those days you just didn’t come across people like that. We talked with him for a while, humouring him. I can’t remember what we talked about but I remember that intermittently he’d suddenly say “whass’at noise…” and look around him in a suspicious manner… the noise he was referring to was the buzz from the pylons and wires that stretched across the field, every now and then it would buzz a bit louder.