Out After Dark

There’s a lot of ideas fizzing around my head about walking as a creative practice at the moment. I started the week thinking about ‘walking artists’, the subject of my friend J’s degree dissertation at Bristol School of Art. A talented artist but a mature student feeling a bit wobbly faced with powerpoint slides, she wanted to run through her presentation in front of a friendly audience and so did so at our Monday women’s group. She gave us lots to think about, including walking as pilgrimage, other spiritual practices such as labyrinths. We discussed walking as a political act, and how that links with access to land and nature. J also put in a special plea for the flaneur, one who perfects the art of idly wandering through a city and observing. Although when looking up more about ‘flaneur’ I came across a review of Flâneuse by Lauren Elkin (2016), who asked that age old question, where are the women? Another one to add to my reading list, I already have Wanderlust by Rebecca Solnit (2000) on order from the library.

Which brings me to Redfield Ramblers Anonymous, an informal women’s walking group started by a couple of friends about a year ago. They felt a need to get out in the evenings, escape their young children, take up some space in the dark, as well as get some low pressure exercise. Although I treasure walking alone, I know that I need company sometimes. I have found that all the tentative connections you make open you up to more possibilities. It’s because of this group that I ended up in the crowd of an Idles gig in Queen’s Square last summer, and that I got talking to a fellow walker, a psychotherapist and poet. Meeting other women brave enough to present their creative work to the world is inspiring, and has made me much more active in seeking out opportunities to write and share. Thank you H! Especially for that walk we took on a summer evening after a particularly stressful day, I really needed it.

I was out with the ramblers last Wednesday, there were just three of us (including me). The WhatsApp group had been busy with messages earlier in the day, good intentions set, but then mostly defeated by the sheer effort of making it out of the door after a hard day. The weather forecast didn’t help, with gloomy threats of rain. The pavements were glistening damp as our hardy trio assembled by the library, but there was a gap in the clouds and a bright three quarter moon doing her best to compete against the artificial glow of the streetlights. Several dark distant shapes of foxes scurried past on secret errands. We chose a route over Troopers Hill and down to the river Avon, which was running fast and high between its banks. We walked mostly by moonlight, carefully picking our way through muddy puddles, and a shooting star was spotted. Halfway round the route we stood surrounded by trees, the river at our back, listening to the gurgling rush of the waters. We instinctively held a silence together, appreciating the moment, allowing it to fill us. Good and varied chat on the way back, including fungi, the aurora borealis, the vastness of time and space, birds spotted in our gardens. We all agreed we felt better for being out, escaping our various responsibilities. The next day on the Whatsapp group there was news of an academic who wants to join us on a future walk, she’s particularly interested in women who walk at night. Maybe we’re on to something…

Photo shows a very wobbly attempt to capture the moon on Wednesday night, always tricky. I was inside a lot last week recovering from my tooth extraction so did plenty of reading. Finished Huckleberry Finn, polished off Jonathan Coe's latest satire 'Proof of My Innocence' and started 'The Book of Dave' by Will Self. Troopers Hill is a local nature reserve and one of my favourite places to walk, looked after by the amazing volunteer team Friends of Troopers Hill