I set myself on a course of right and every third left for forty minutes.
First things first, a citrus green Jensen Interceptor. I lost some minutes admiring this relic and became aware of myself standing in the street gazing at this car and noted that standing and staring was an okay thing to do. I can drop the haste: nobody seems to mind.
I walked through a ghostly shopping mall. Business had closed and the shop spaces were like missing teeth in an invisible smile.
Instinct tends me towards the green leafy places. The next right every third left dictum turned me away from the avenue of trees that looked very beautiful in the rain and into a side alley: a series of flats that were coloured sugary pink as in a fairy tale. The flag of St George still dangled from many a window in remembrance, maybe, of England’s glorious Euro 2012 campaign.
There was a roll of carpet lying on the pavement like someone who had just dropped dead and a super sized silver TV set like a piece of discarded spaceship.
The forty minutes was up. And here, at the heart of my journey, a white van with the words Baudelaire Ltd printed on the back doors in blood red block capitals.