Written Something

I’ve decided against using my imagination, it feels too difficult, so I am roughly narrating some of what went on in my mind whilst going on a long walk yesterday.  This could be boring!  I went out for two reasons: To take advantage of the Indian summer we are having and to find parts of Wimbledon Common I haven’t seen before.

At the precipice of exciting choices which is the junction at the end of Alexandra Road, I opted to turn left toward the hubbub of high street life before the lonely trek to the common.  A circuit of Centre Court shopping centre was enough to shake off the loneliness and silence.

Climbing up the hill I was unable to avoid the same boring thought that Wimbledon Village is not villagey enough.  Once in the common my strategy was to deliberately turn where I wouldn’t normally turn, failure would be to arrive at the Windmill during my travels, double-defeat would be to get seduced by the over-priced refreshments there.

All during the walk I felt slightly on edge, I was in the mood for walking but not the silence.  It was so silent that I was actually able to hear the leaves falling from the trees.  I was remembering how interesting Gary Younge’s thoughts are on identity politics, he was discussing his book on some very maturely presented American radio shows.  What he said was quite straightforward but subtle at the same time, things about the importance of the way you ask a question about a person’s identity and the need to accept the individual’s definition of themselves.  His examples of real-life situations to flesh out his points made it interesting listening; I have forgotten all the examples.  I then thought that there was probably an entire branch of study on gender identity.  The phrase “gender identity” sounds familiar, didn’t want to dwell on it, why complicate life.  It’s probably more complex for women, I’m sure they’ll tell me about it at some point, I’ll try to listen if the football is not on.

Wimbledon Common is far more intimate than Richmond Park, there are more small tree-lined paths and places to hide away in.  Eventually though a new place emerged, huge open green playing fields, lots of them, I even saw Colliers Wood FC’s ground and the Surrey Archers’ practise area.  A good change after the narrow paths I was walking through before.  It felt a strange, a completely new part of the park near to New Malden and bordered by Robin Hood Road.  A really valuable part of Merton council’s offering I had no idea about.  Really impressive.

It was time to head back after an hour and a half of walking in about 26 degree heat without a drop of water.  I tried to walk back in a different way from the way I came.  It wasn’t the best idea, getting back was taking a long time and I decided to go through an opening in a wire fence and ended up in a private golf course.  Strange looks verging on stares from white men resulted.  I attempted a jaunty hello with a couple of guys in a golf buggy but they just did a drive-by stare.  It was a bit like I was in a spooky other-gangland-world.  I had an idea of the direction to go in and carried on that way hoping to be unobtrusive and find an exit out quickly.  It didn’t work.

“Excuse me!”  An American voice bellowed.  He and his companion were both younger than the others I’d seen so far.  Still determined to remain neutral but not apologetic I said a neutral and equally loud “hello”.  He asked “Where are you goin’?”- more to get me the hell out than to help out.

“Wimbledon Station”

He and his English-voiced companion pointed with vigour in completely different directions.  I saw the comedy of the situation but felt only annoyance, not just by the aggressive pointing but by something I could not work out at that moment. 

“Which way?”

“That way!”  Again the different direction pointing.

So I held my hands up in confusion and chose the direction that headed towards rather than away from them, the other direction felt more correct but felt walking away would have been slightly submissive.

“That way!” the American voice said, the English pal finally realised the pointing confusion.  So I walked away thinking this rarefied air stinks somehow.

The English guy shouted, completely unnecessarily, “This is private property!” 

I shouted back “I’m not here intentionally!”, there was frustration in my tone and I raised my arms to suggest exasperation and he turned away.  May be I should be ashamed by my approach, but I was still annoyed.

Later I came upon an older member, he was smiling in a relaxed, friendly way and I smiled back, asking if I was on my way to Wimbledon town centre and he responded normally; human to human and not member to non-member.  Then I realised what annoyed me.  The British and American voices together reserving territory:  They bloody occupy Iraq and Afghanistan together then they occupy parts of UK and demarcate them from their own people too.  Not that those two were likely to see me as “one of their own”.  My God, identity politics is a complex thing!

On the way I passed some twee beautifully maintained prep schools.  They were clean, tidy, colourless and serious with manicured lawns.  One school was called “The Study”.  As a kid that sign board would have made me want to escape on sight.  These schools are adult fantasies, designed around their tastes, ideals and myths.  The kids are running around (probably disallowed) in what look like exclusive gentleman’s clubs.

Landing in Wimbledon proper was a relief, usually it’s a relief to have a change of scene in the common. 

I was mulling over what to write about how Moldova being robbed in Eurovision on the road to home and thought I’d write all the junk in my head instead.  Easy!  Actually I was going to write something about the Moldova controversy but have run out of time to research on YouTube as I have to do some DIY now.

Take care hope all is well, look after yourself.