Friday 17 August

Friday 17 August 2012

A Month After Giving Up Smoking

I arrive after a long train journey that includes a wait at Preston. I think the Government have banned smoking in public places, but I definitely detected cigarette smoke while I waited for my connecting train and I moved away from the source of the smell, keen to avoid triggers.

I step off the train, into a tiny station that has only one rail track. Out in the town, I strain for echoes of childhood. For the Bucket and Spade shop I vaguely recall and the sand dunes and the unmistakable scent of seaside cafes serving egg and chips. Instead, an overcast sky greets me, along with rows of unfamiliar buildings and the promise of rain.

My hosts arrive. After stopping at a cafe for a quick cup of tea or coffee, we hurry through drizzle, sheltering under trees when the rain develops into a downpour. I look around, shifting position to avoid getting wet.

When I was a child, I went to a party on this street. A celebration in one of the buildings close to where we are standing now. Something happened, though, and the head of the Clan got angry and started shouting at a relative who’d got there late.

The Clan. Most of them have gone. Died. Broken off contact. Whatever. These streets, so full of life and joy then, seem to lack character or meaning now.

I check in at the hotel and have a shower before heading out to the shore where I take photos in a fresh downpour and look at the Model Railway.

Later, I meet my hosts for dinner.

Back at the hotel, I update my facebook page:

Fri 17 August 22.39: walk along shore path, plus photoshoot in the rain, Welcome to the world of lancashire.