In Search of Oldton

Perhaps all this is a function of too much travelling forwards whilst looking backwards.

I loved sitting on the back of my Nan's bike in a black fold-up metal chair. As she pedalled onwards, I could watch my little world unravel in our wake, the village spooling away... as if Nan's pedalling was powering a back-projector capable of playing me a fully personalised rear-view movie of my home town.

It's a silent movie, though, and it's the one single road out of town with my house, my home, receding from view. Perhaps worrying too much about the disappeared past is preventing me from seeing the future. It's all a matter of point of view.

Next time I take the train, I think I'll take a front-facing seat.

Writers for the Future