Walkabout

At the "old place", or where we used to live until about 4 weeks ago me and Will (or The Boy as I referred to him until he started to borrow my shaving kit) had a tried and tested walking route that we would set out upon if it was too wet, windy or otherwise unfavourable to go out on our first choice activity of cycling.

It was a challenging route involving sharp uphill turns, a few long drags and then the relief provided by a downward slope albeit a bit of a strain on my half century old knee joints. Will walks like he cycles, just that half a step ahead of me that is quite infuriating.

For all the ascending and descending it was not too stimulating in terms of local or wider history, places and personalities of interest or in architectural terms in spite of the main roads travelled being of late Victorian and Edwardian housing of some character, pomp and style.

Points of any interest were few and far between.

There was the rendered detached house that someone had painted, I kid you not, bright and lurid purple. A few yards further on was a boarded up and derelict semi and yet on one of the best streets in the town. Surely something juicy or tragic had taken place behind that metal shuttering.

Close by a small electricity transformer buzzed as it sat quietly but ominously in an indentation in a back garden.

We would revel in setting off the passive infra red light sensors on gates and front walls and then try, on a purely speculative basis to crack the entry code for those ostentatious residences with one of those sliding electric gates which were, frankly, ridiculous and impractical.

There was a justified thrill and reverence at the sight of the north tower of the Humber Bridge as it loomed up out of the low cloud and then back to mundane and boring footways and urban street scenes.

The first downhill would be through a wide tree lined avenue. Such was our familiarity with the individual houses that we would comment on the sight of a different car to normal on the driveway with the latest registration or perhaps down simply to hosting a visit from relatives.

We soon got to know behind which bay window lurked a nervous dog or under which hedge a lazy but jumpy cat was resting ahead of a fruitful nocturnal hunt.

In the interests of modesty and politeness it was necessary to avert our gaze from certain house windows where a lack of thought or just plain and shameless exhibitionism had prevented the realisation of a clear glass window onto a bathroom or shower cubicle in plain sight of hapless pedestrians.

The walk was not all through residential areas. A couple of footbridges took us over the busy ring road and down to the shoreline of the tidal river. On some days, such was the strength of the prevailing westerleys that it was immensely difficult and uncomfortable to make any headway unless stooped low and huddled against the whipped up gravel on the narrow track.

Respite only came in the form of the underpass of the rail line and the comparative shelter of the country park formed from the old chalk quarry on the outskirts of the town.

By now, on any one of our regular trips me and Will would be tired and tetchy in each others company.

The final stretch, all downhill would invariably be conducted in mutual silence.

So, we have now moved house and there is a completely new set of routes to be initially explored and enjoyed.

The old place, by comparison, was nouveau riche, bland and superficial.

In fact there is no common ground with where we are now.

Our starting point is a City Park, an oasis and refuge of greenery donated by a benefactor and philanthropist in 1860.

One of the first houses we pass was the residence of the poet Philip Larkin and the inspiration for many of his best works.

Within a few hundred yards we come across the blue Civic plaques for the film director Anthony Minghella, the actor Ian Carmichael, the pioneering aviator Amy Johnson, playwright Alan Plater and even Joseph Boxall, the second in command on the Titanic.

Other names we are not really familiar with but we are encouraged to make that little bit of effort to find out, sometime over the coming years. It will be an interesting and enriching experience.