Observersations on a journey to H.W.

I'm going to an open evening/talk/discussion about the public art commission in wycombe - 'Living Wycombe'. It's a journey I make alone this time, John has to work.

Starting point: Marleybone
Entry point into the portal: between Gerrards Cross and High Wycombe

I know this place, its familiar but alien; my body remembers it but my mind is uncertain - a parallel life.

It's like time travel - a tube transporting me back in time - my mind tells me I've done this trip many times, the moving landscape is known but it feels like this is a new experience.

Its a wierd thing - time travel.

I've landed. I step off the train, it's 1985 - wait, no it isn't, there's Spanish Deli on Crendon Street, open at 5.45pm. I am hungrey so I head into town - good old Costa's open as there isn't much else. Ummm. Stand under the Little Market House with the smell of wee and try to feel the buzz of something I know. It's old so the walls must contain the energy of all the yesterdays, a feeling of familarity.

There's a number of pink and yellow Amnestys staked out on all axis of the high street.

Making my way to the university now for the meeting, I scan the pub forecourts cautious of familiar faces - but thinking about it, they're probably all dead or banged up by now. Under the tunnel through to the university. Gold stars in the skip.

The corridors smell like the hospital I can see out of the window - windows big enough to sit in and write this.

Meetings over and I'm waiting outside for my lift. It's dark. A re-enactment society is in the car park, I thought it was a gang duelling for real.

Observing some men coming through the front doors, in blazers, ties and grey hair. It's all quite proper round here. I rememer that feeling from School. Committees after school meets old men in battle uniform.

My lift arrives - my mum - as she whizzes me away from the town I'm transported back to another era.

I need to get home.