Not a vast wood near where my friend Ralf lives in Finland, a small wood. A small suburban wood in Leeds.
This is disconcerting for someone with a perfect sense of direction. I blame my new hat, there I was thinking this wood is going on a bit, when it will end? these roots and rocks are a pain, is this actually a path anymore? but no worries, I look fantastic in this hat, what an amazing cap! All my usual navigational receptors distorted by my headgear.
Eventually I escaped the wood, shot off on tarmac and saw a plane. I am one of those people who always have to look at a plane, what kind it is, which airline, what it’s doing. This plane was putting its wheels down, I thought, He is going to turn now, he is going to turn now, he is too low to turn now, he is going to crash.
That was when I realised that the pilot was probably relying on instruments rather than his sense of direction and that somewhere in the wood I’d turned 360 degrees and now I was speeding back in the direction I had come, rather than towards the airport.
Last week I cycled round Jersey. Coasts are easier than woods. Pilots don’t fly wearing their caps.
A kind of gift
Remembering Ken Saro-Wiwa
I had forgotten why I stopped going to gyms
Whenever I am in Leeds Art Gallery I say hello to my Grandfather, George Dearden. He is the third soldier from the left.
Small lungs shouting
I've never been in, I wasn't there, this isn't my photo, but ...
First ride into the city this year
Out of kilter ...