Night Walk from Watling Estate to Arrandene Space.
Exploring the edges of the London scene alone is a nightly occurrence, reason being a border terrier in need of action. I walk out of my door onto a quaint floodlit green attended by irregular terraced houses. Further along similar abodes sport black weather boarding or more bizarrely, steel sheets sourced from destroyers of the first World War. The Watling estate was built as an Earthly Paradise, suitable for refugees of the East End bombing. Spacious parks, greens and mountainous vistas of Mill Hill arrive at the eye every moment. But such utopian peace was to prove too much for them and they fled. Now the Thatcher-released estate is populated by the working peoples of the World. All flow daily to the Mecca of the Burnt Oak tube line where we sit with an air of reassurance as the easy suburbs whizz by. Wandering the estate at night feels safe and exciting. Endless opportunities abound for clandestine chats or unexpected encounters such as a coterie of women stopping mid-traffic to enquire where Tristan’s demonic flashing collar comes from. Litter crackles underfoot providing him with a multi country “takeaway”. Cities of red-lit cranes at Colindale shrink to a human scale the summer parks of soccer, basketball and funfairs, while beyond to the West can be heard the rumble of the Edgware road laced with souks, Primarks and Lexus showrooms. Having had our cultural fill we turn in the other direction towards the posher climes of Mill Hill. Here parkland gentrifies into mud paths and unkempt meadows. No one is around at night save the impressive oaks and moonlit grasses. Tristan finally runs free, feral and terrifying. At the top of Arrandene Space we sit on a bench to survey the Hampstead/Highgate ridge backlit by the chlorotic yellow of the real city. The Shard pierces its horizon. It’s at moments like this that I delight in the paradox of being a city dweller and yet not being of the city. All possibilities lie before me but retreat is instantly available. Music burbles into my empty composerly brain only to be suddenly traumatised by a couple of bulldogs on the loose. “Don’t worry” says the equally intimidating owner. I am not convinced as I lurch with my mini-wolf into the dense undergrowth to escape.
