ECHO 21/1/06

Some say Redditch is built on the convergence of ley lines and that because of this it draws bad energy into itself. Indeed, one woman, a friend of Kay’s, believes this to be true and has been trying to leave for years but never managed it, and as a consequence now suffers from severe depression and has to take prescription pills to keep her from going bonkers every day – who knows, maybe it is. I ponder the meaning of its name: Red-ditch. Does it mean it was built in clay? Or blood? Either way it is a town built in a ditch, which can’t be a good move to start with -
Minibikes (miniaturised versions of full sized speed-bikes) are the accessory of the moment round here; many of the teen boys drive around on them, you hear the tiny, high pitched engines from far off, little more than dressed up lawn-mowers that tootle past with some lank-haired boy riding it low to the ground with his knees stuck out at 45 degree angles and usually a rather sorry looking bunch of mates tagging along with him on their pushbikes, gazing jealously at his toy –

In the Jobcentre a young couple (late teens, baseball cap on him, leather jacket over jogging bottoms on her, ponytail with a glittery hair band) are using a Jobsearch computer console looking for work in the local area. As they scroll through the pages – neither one of them taking much note of any of the adverts coming up – they discuss their relationship. He is evidently very fond of her and kisses her on here forehead at one point; she never lets go of his hand. Finally, and without any sense of confidentiality he asks her: “Will you still love me if I get arrested?” She replies that she will of course, taking the comment as the most normal things to say (like “good morning” or “shall we go shopping?”) without any shock or reticence, it is a matter of course. The boy backs this up by smiling at her and saying: “Cool. Cos’ you know it’s going to happen at some point.” To which she says: “I know, but not too soon, eh?”

- - - - - -

Two men living out of single bedded rooms, bags strewn on the floor with a few possessions in and the confusion of not knowing where things are. Just the immediate artefacts utilised: a couple of books being read, a laptop, a pen, and a notebook to keep up to date with themselves if possible. Good luck to them both. . . .

- - - - - -

she’s away to play
to be reflected
on the water
at the water’s edge
where pebbles turn
by Derwent tide
(though I no longer know
if it’s possible)

she’s away to chew
mint cake
in the reeds
where seeded clarinets
shiver in the wake
of a hundred boats
(through two seasons
to winter’s edge)

she’s away to line
Wordsworth’s daffs
with speeches
of tired meringues,
raspberries and peaches
on the veranda
(the lake shall trade
grey for blue)