Crawley – onetruekev

Hmmm, More Vinyl

There was a grand opening Friday morning in Crawley. After a gap of nearly five years, HMV was returning to Crawley. The old Crawley store was closed in the second round of closures and restructures when the company were struggling; and it is now Dunhelm less than one hundred yards away from where the new store is.

HMV had been hit hard by the supermarket chains (especially Sainsbury’s and Tesco’s) going big on having lots of vinyl, CDs, games, and DVDs in their stores at cheap prices. Which along with the ever increasing empire of Amazon was making it difficult for them to survive.

It was a shame for Crawley as HMV was the only proper record shop in the town. And what do you know, no sooner had it disappeared from our streets then the supermarkets announced they were scaling back their music selections, and in the case of Sainsbury’s stopping them completely. So, after forcing HMV out of the local market they withdrew and left us with nowhere locally to get new music. And with that it was either travel long distances or use Amazon, neither being great options.

In addition, HMV’s flagship site on Oxford Street went as well. I was shocked to see that building just a couple of weeks ago when we were up in London. The shop has been taken over by American Candy Store, and the famous sigh on the front of the building now reads “His Master’s American Candy Store”.

HMV hasn’t always been the greatest chain, or the cheapest to buy from, but I’ve been buying records (tapes, CD’s, videos, DVDs etc.) from them for nearly forty years.

There were a couple of stores in Leicester where I grew up. One in the Haymarket centre which sold everything, but I would use the smaller store opposite the market as it specialised in the burgeoning House and Hip-Hop scenes in the late eighties.

I spent vast amounts in the Manchester store when I lived there and was restarting my collection. I have a mass of limited edition, signed, etched, coloured vinyl, and poster pack seven inch singles that were releases by rock and indie bands in the early noughties.

When I moved to Crawley in 2006, these releases were dying out, but I still got nearly every new seven inch that was available there. As vinyl pretty much died out I didn’t go so often, but Vinyl’s comeback was just gaining pace when the store was closed.

The grand opening was at 9am on Friday morning, and they were giving away goodie bags to the first twenty five people who bought something. On a non-work day I’m not usually out of the house before eight very often, but I was this morning and got to the store about twenty past eight.

I was tenth in the queue outside the front door. By the time the staff came down to have their opening day pictures taken, and the local press had arrived to document the opening, I looked around and the queue was strung out behind me towards Memorial Gardens and the back was out of sight.

There was no stampede when the doors opened to let customers in. Everyone went up on the escalator in an orderly fashion. I went straight to the vinyl, found a Prince box set I didn’t have and headed to the till. By then, stampede mentality had kicked in and people were running to get into the queue for the till. I’d grabbed one item I’d really wanted and headed to the till, but people were picking up the first thing they could see to get in the queue to pay and get one of the goodie bags.

I was fifteenth in this queue and so I did get a goodie bag (two Star Wars t-shirts, a couple of key rings, a bobble head figure, notepad, pen, baseball cap, Japanese candy, and a tube pop), so definitely worth getting up early.

Then it was time to do some proper shopping. The first three Prodigy albums on vinyl, a Kinks box set, a Factory Records box set, a couple of books, a t-shirt, and a couple of other pieces later, it was an expensive morning.

But none of the box sets were as much as my most expensive single item purchase. i made that way back in 1988, from that HMV by the side of Leicester market. The twelve disc “The History Of The House Sound Of Chicago” set me back one hundred and twenty quid back then.

I’ll be happy if I’m still buying box sets of vinyl from HMV in another thirty-four years from now. Let’s hope they survive in Crawley in this new store.

Changing Of The Guard

There appears to have been a changing of the guard outside Maccy D’s in town. For as long as I can remember there has been a homeless man staying in the inset doorway between Maccy D’s and Gregg’s. he wasn’t much younger than me and always came across as being surly and aggressive at any time of day.

This morning he had been replaced. A much younger man sat there, one without the accumulation of stuff the previous incumbent had. A less confrontational person. Nervous, as if shocked to find themselves in the position they are in. not making eye contact, and almost curled up upon themselves. Perhaps in fear of an attack or being moved on.

While I sat having my breakfast, he darted into Maccy D’s. in and out as quickly as possible to get something to eat with money given to him. Not wanting to leave his few meagre possessions out on the street unguarded for longer than absolutely necessary. The fear that someone may take them, or worse, throw them away. He came back out, checked to ensure nothing had gone and huddled back up on himself to have his muffin.

I finished my breakfast and dug into my pockets to see what change or cash I had on me, surprised to see a lot of pound coins in these almost cashless times. I gave it all to the new homeless man sitting there, knowing it could never be enough, but it was all I could give there and then. And he was grateful, and looked as if he was even younger than I first thought he was.

He may have replaced the long-term resident, but I sincerely hope that he is not going to be a long-term resident there himself.

Elsewhere the cash only, dodgy dealing, watch, phone, and sunglasses hut was up and running. They had customers this morning and I suppose it shouldn’t have been of any surprise that the customers were pensioners. The kings and queens of cash, the last bastions of notes and coins. Handing it over to the shady looking couple running the stand for a knock off watch or imitation sunglasses. None of them had any cash for the poor homeless man sat just yards from the tat they were buying. In fact, they wouldn’t even look at him.

I stopped, as I often do, at the small newsagents by the bus station. To get a couple of drinks to see me through the writing group session I was off to, and to pick up the weekly local paper – The Crawley Observer. There was no one else in the shop when I went in, and the shopkeeper was hiding under the counter playing with his phone.

I paid and then went to put the items I had bought into my bag. Only to be pretty much shooed out of the shop. Both by the impatience of the single customer who had come in behind me; and by the muppet behind the counter who wanted everyone out of the shop as quickly as possibly so he could go back to playing with his phone.

Neither of them prepared to wait as I struggled to put the three items into my bag. Instead I had to go outside and use the top of the bin as a staging point to get my drinks and paper into the bag.

I know I shouldn’t be shocked by that kind of impatient behaviour anymore, no one it would seem has the slightest modicum of patience any more. But it annoys the fuck out of me. Even if I am in a rush myself (rare because I’m obsessive about leaving early to give myself plenty of time to get where I’m going to) I will patiently wait in any queue there is. It’s a part of life.

People were there before you. They need to finish what they came to do before it becomes your turn. They don’t need to be hassled into hurrying up and possibly making a mistake, or into leaving something behind, or having something not quite packed away correctly so they lose it or break it on their way home or to their next destination.

So, people, generally the message is this. Stop being so fucking impatient, and just wait for your turn instead of being inconsiderate pieces of shit.

Am I Really Still In Crawley

The weekends come so quickly in lockdown, and it is Saturday again before we know it. Snow is promised for the weekend, so when it looks like reasonable weather outside, we decide to head out for a walk again. Apart from the three pubs drinks have been partaken in, which we will pass on our route, it is another part of Crawley that I haven’t walked around. And the Tinsley Green and Fernhill areas are parts of Crawley that most wouldn’t even realise fall under Crawley Borough Council’s remit.

We park up near Charlie’s (in Manor Royal, not the home of the Scooby Burger at Three Bridges Station), and walk the hundred or so yards away from where we were heading to the Grade II listed building tucked away in Manor Royal – Little Orchards.

Originally from the sixteenth century, it has been built on and extended at various points since then, and it has a nice end chimney that leans at an interesting angle.

A quick turn about follows, and we turn onto Radford Road and go over the railway and down to the Greyhound.

A locally listed building from the 1930’s, it is famous for holding the world marble championships, to which there is not only a Blue Plaque on its walls, but also a red Famous Grouse one as well.

We walk around the side and into Tinsley Green around the back of it. Up on the first floor at the back is what looks to be a series of marquee type tent structures, as if they are preparing the area to be a balcony area when they can eventually reopen some time in the late spring early summer.

Next to the pub is Greyhound Cottage, another locally listed building, this one dating from the 1780s.

On the other side of the rough track that is Tinsley Green is Cherrytree Cottage, a Grade II listed building dating from the seventeenth century.

We walk up to the end of the track getting there as a train breaks the silence running north just in front of us. There are a lot of nice houses here and two to our left as we turn and head back to the main road are Newbridge and Zell cottages, originally from the 18^th century, but altered since, they are weatherboarded and have slate roofs.

A new footpath can be seen heading across what is left of the fields behind Tinsley Green, over towards Forge Wood, but we head straight ahead along Radford Road, and on the west side of it, the side without any pavements are three Grade II listed buildings in a row.

First up is Brookside, from the mid seventeenth century,

Then it is Oldlands Farm House, which dates from the early seventeenth century, although it looks more modern.

Finally, is Radford Farmhouse. Older than its two neighbours, it is from the sixteenth century, thought specifically from the 1550s. It is the second of two remaining thatched cottages in Crawley, following on from Green Lane Old Cottage that we had walked past and written about two weeks ago.

The rest of Radford Road has a mish mash of styles of houses and bungalows in varying states of upkeep. Halfway along this stretch is one house named Border Cottage, which going back just over thirty years ago would have been an accurate description as the border to Surrey would have been here until it was reset in 1990 to include all the land west of the M23 and south of the M23 spur to Gatwick Airport (and the Airport itself) within Crawley Borough Council and so into West Sussex.

We turn onto Balcombe Road heading north, passing a whole line of what look to be 1930s builds, mainly gated, I suppose mansions would be an accurate term. The one that stands out amongst the long stretch of house envy is the yellow one.

The houses stop and there is open land either side of the road, most of which is waterlogged, with poor soggy donkeys out in the fields trying to find a raised dry bit of land to avoid the mud pits. Empty, closed, and barricaded former airport parking runs down one side of the road, and we can see the Marriott hotel building, which unknown at this point is where we are heading. The road becomes national speed limit along here and its difficult to ascertain which is more dangerous to us, the speeding traffic flying past, or the inconsiderate, impatient joggers trying to push us into the road or ditch despite us changing to walking single file to give them space on the narrow footpath.

We turn on to Buckingham Gate, a couple of hundred yards away from where the M23 spur runs over the Balcombe Road marking the end of Crawley. To our left is the massive Schlumberger House.

Now I’m not a big fan of 1980s brick-built behemoths, but the way this one has been built, and the grounds around it landscaped makes it look an impressive structure, and as if it would be a great location to have as an office. The various terraces all have greenery growing in them, which softens the whole look of it.

Beyond the building, and in the grounds of the Marriott are the two co-joined Tudor houses that I wanted to see most of all on this walk.

Wing House, from the mid sixteenth century, it had used to be the airport staff social club until 2006.

And Edgeworth House, slightly older from c1520s.

Both sit surrounded by paths and landscaping for the hotel, but both have the appearance of being criminally neglected.

I’m not sure who owns the buildings, but it would appear to be the hotel, seeing as Edgeworth House is rammed full of unused tables and chairs; and if so then I can’t understand why they aren’t a) taking better care of the fabric of the buildings (broken windows, peeling paintwork etc), and b) making full use of their history.

I know that there are a lot of hoops to jump through to use statutory listed buildings for any new purpose, but there are plenty of examples where it has been done to great effect in other parts of the country. Not only that but tourists, especially Americans would lap the Tudor history perspective up.

Mini rant over.

We head back out to Balcombe Road and turn south until we get to Fernhill Road and head along into Fernhill hamlet. The first buildings we come to are those of Fern Court Farm, where this nineteenth century brick barn is adjoined by more modern and more ramshackle buildings.

Further along is the wonderfully named Donkey Lane along which are two Grade II listed cottages. The first of which is the imaginatively named Old Cottage dating from the late seventeenth / early eighteenth century, and which is undergoing running repairs.

And then further along is Lilac Cottage, a bit more modern, dating as it does from the late eighteenth century.

Just to the left of the junction Fernhill Road has with Peeks Brook Lane is the former Baptist Touchwood Chapel, a locally listed building, which still shows its cross and date (1885) on the gable, but is now a private house.

We walk up to the end of Peeks Brook Lane, passing as we do Poplars, a nineteenth century locally listed building whose photo I thought I’d taken wasn’t on my camera; and the final resting place of the Anthill Mob’s charabanc.

The lane carries on under the M23 spur, and the hundred yards or so from under the bridge to the point where it changes from road to track sees the council responsible for it change from Crawley to Tandridge and then to Reigate and Banstead. If I were Usain Bolt, I could be in three council’s jurisdictions in ten seconds, but I’m not, and I don’t bother. Instead, we head back south and pass Gatwick House.

Originally from the 1870s it has its castellated clock tower; it was extended in the early twentieth century in a neo-Georgian style and has been extended substantially since then in a variety of styles. Next to it is Royal Oak House, a grand 1880s house and substantial grounds which again inexplicably I don’t appear to have the photos I was sure I’d taken of it. A road disappears to the east over the motorway and on the other side of it are the Pullcotts Farm Cottages, two brick-built cottages of uncertain age, but are probably at least nineteenth century.

Just before the main road (the modern Antlands Lane) is the old Antlands Lane, well the western part of it as the old road was cut in two by the coming of the motorway. At the end before the fence for the motorway, in the distance along its drive is Teziers Farmhouse, a Grade II listed building from the seventeenth century with additions from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

We head back towards Balcombe Road, taking a last detour in Fernhill to get some views of Burstow Hall, a locally listed building from the mid nineteenth century, formerly part of Burstow parish until the re-bordering in 1990, when it was absorbed by Crawley. We had caught glimpses of it as we’d walked down Peeks Brook Lane, and from the neighbouring garden centre. It is another impressive structure hidden away from all but the most inquisitive eyes.

On Balcombe Road we cross over Radford Road and have another flurry of locally listed buildings. To the east of the road is the Cottage in the Wood, built in the 1930s in the picturesque style.

Then there is the Parson’s Pig. The back has had the hotel added in an attempt at a sympathetic style, but it is the front old pub part of the building from the nineteenth century in the Arts and Crafts style that gets the listing.

And a little bit further along is the eighteenth century The Open Door, its upper story dark weatherboarding and slate roof all that can be seen behind the substantial hedge.

I miss the path that would have taken me towards the Grade II listed Toovies Farmhouse as we carried on along Balcombe Road, with the old-style house on the corner with Steers Lane on one side

And this lovely green house on the other.

Then we are at Heathy Ground Farmhouse, now a pub, but a Grade II listed building (see what could be done with one if they put their mind to it for Wing and Edgeworth houses), from the sixteenth century with a nineteenth century wing added.

We cross over and into the woods along a new winding path added as part of the build of Forge Wood phase two.

The crematorium building can be seen through the trees to the south as we walk along and pop out amongst the new builds of Forge Wood. I take a few snaps of road signs, not knowing if there is a theme going on here, but I have some now with the very fetching magenta coloured Forge Wood name. Although there looks like there could be some naming controversies going on already as part of the district name is already being peeled from some of the signs.

Out of new build land we are on Steers Lane and as we approach its junction with Radford Road, we pass the last of the listed buildings for the day, the Grade II listed Tinsley Farmhouse from the eighteenth century, and its ramshackle wooden outbuilding.

From here it is a stagger back up over the railway track and into Manor Royal and to the car. My fatbit had had an exciting day buzzing my arm to notify me of 10,00 steps (my daily target), and the first time I’d hit 20,000 and 25,000 in a day since getting it. It may be glad, though I’m not sure my knees feel the same way. They will get a few days off before the next route march as snow stops play.

Picture laden version is on my Medium pages at the link below.

https://onetruekev.medium.com/am-i-really-still-in-crawley-ab221714c146

A Pint of the Black Stuff

Another day, another wander around Crawley. I’ve been living in Crawley for nearly fifteen years, and this is the first time I’m going to be walking around Broadfield. I’ve been to the Barton a few times, but always on the bus.

This time I walk down to K2 and then across the road and behind the line of trees in to Broadfield Park. A lovely space hidden away only by the trees down the side of the dual carriageway, something I’ve missed the countless times. And across the park is Broadfield House, a wonderful Grade II listed building from the 1830s and extended thirty years later.

It feels hidden away again, and in many of the walks I’ve done in the last year, searching out historic buildings there is a common theme in that they are at the periphery of our vision. It makes me think of China Mieville’s “The City And The City”, where we are almost trained not to see the old historic parts of Crawley as the residents of Beszel are conditioned not to see Ul Qoma which shares the same space. There is an expectation that, as a new town, there is no history in Crawley; something I was probably guilty of thinking when I moved here.

I moved on from Broadfield House and made my way over to Woodmans Hill, snapping away at more road signs, and I walk up the hill with a long high red brick wall on the other side of the road until there was a gap and a road into the estate behind the wall. I was particularly after more road signs and this area had a number of London based names.

What I didn’t know was that this whole estate lying between Woodmans Hill and Coachmans Drive is a Guinness Trust estate, which did explain the naming of Guinness Court, and other names where the roads in this mini estate aren’t named after London Parks: Kensington, St James, Regents, Hampstead, Finsbury & Highgate (a park now overshadowed by its more famous cemeteries next to it). I spent quite some time wandering around trying to find a sign for London Fields House, only to find a map of the estate on its estate community centre which indicated where it should be, only for me to find that it has been renamed as Newfield House.

Stonebridge is both the name of a London estate which is also called Park Royal; and that estate was the home of a Guinness Brewery from 1936 to 2005 before the building was demolished in 2006.

Moyne was the title of the Barony awarded to Walter Guinness in 1932. He was the third son of the 1^st Earl of Iveagh (in County Down), Sir Benjamin Guinness, who set up the Guinness Trust in 1888 in London (and the Iveagh Trust in Dublin in 1890).

The roads into the estate come in from either side, but there is no through way from any of the four roads into any of the others. The way through is by footpaths only, built this way it seems less busy with traffic. The estate has the air of being tightly packed, despite the numerous little green spaces and courtyard type areas throughout. I suppose part of this comes from the signs affixed to walls near the spaces stating, “NO BALL GAMES”, which is a shame for those children who live there.

I’ve walked through a lot of parts of Crawley, and I’ve gotten some strange looks as I take photos of road signs, but I got some hostile looks as I walked around the footpaths of the estate carrying my camera ready to take photos. I definitely felt like I was intruding, and the residents were suspiciously asking what this stranger was doing in their domain. It probably didn’t help that I’d doubled back and re-trod some roads two or three times trying to find the pictures I wanted.

Once I had satisfied myself in the Guinness Trust estate, I crossed over Coachmans Drive and into an area where the signs were all about areas of London, and royal palaces and castles, starting at Enfield and working around to Fulham before coming out at Holyrood Place.

From here I wanted to get pictures of the church – Christ The Lord, a multi denominational church, that apart from the cross on the roof is hard to mark as a church, it is in such a style, that it could easily be mistaken as a school, library, or community centre, and so merges into two such buildings next to it.

Having walked around the church I now found myself on Broadfield Barton. I had thought Tilgate Parade as being the largest in Crawley, and it probably is if looking at it a single row, but the Barton is bigger, being more of a normal shopping street with shops on both side of the walkway for one half and the single aspect overlooking the car park. I was surprised how busy the Barton was, both in the number of people wandering around in it, but also in how many shops were open along it.

At the end is The Imperial, closed as it should be in these Covid lockdown. I think it is the only pub in Crawley I haven’t had a drink in (not including those shut or demolished before I lived here). And if I mention it, it seems to elicit a sharp intake of breath about going in there. Which makes me smile as I’ve had some really dodgy locals in Leicester and Manchester before moving here.

There is something about the name The Imperial that appears to bring about an air of being a rough pub. It was the same in Leicester, where it is now closed and turned into flats; the one in Manchester could be described as “industrial” on a kind day; and the one near my mum’s in Morecambe has been shut more time than it’s been open due to drug dealing and violence.

My fatbit had shaken my arm quite some time before and being at the bus stops it put the idea of giving my aching knees a break and so I got the bus back to the top of my road instead of carrying on. There will be other days to explore other parts of Broadfield.

Picture laden version can be found on my Medium page

https://onetruekev.medium.com/a-pint-of-the-black-stuff-9b0c15aada60

Another Crawley Stroll

It’s another Saturday afternoon in lockdown v3. For once it isn’t pouring down with rain and there appears to be some bright little yellow thing in the sky. It’s time for a walk, and it’s a little bit further afield than bordering Southgate. I’ve got a little loop of Pound Hill and Worth in mind.

I used to live in Pound Hill for six years or so, and during these years, on the whole, it would appear that I walked around with my eyes closed, blind to the kind of buildings there were dotted around and the history that is around if only I’d open them. It’s bizarre that until about three years ago I was completely blind to Crawley’s history, even after twelve or so years living here. Especially as someone who trained up to be a blue badge guide in Leicester when I lived there.

And so we’re at Pound Hill parade to start a wander. We head out the side between the Co-op and launderette onto Crawley Lane. So obviously the original road out to Turner’s Hill when you look on the map, and that can be picked up by looking at the buildings along its length. A number of them are so much older than the parade behind them, and the estate to the south of it. I had done some wandering in the summer, taking pictures of churches, pubs and road signs in this area, but I’d ignored the houses on Crawley Lane.

Two in particular are on the list of locally listed buildings. Numbers 6-8 are a couple of weatherboarded cottages from the 1870s.

And Woodcote Cottage further up the slight incline is again weatherboarded, and is older, being from the 1840s.

I couldn’t help myself and took a detour onto Mount Close, doing a lap of the triangle. This was the only place in Pound Hill I ever used to take any notice of when I lived in Wakehams Green. I would deliberately detour through it from Crawley Lane to the far corner and the narrow path onto the Balcombe Road just below The Hillside. It is full of a glorious array of beautiful houses. It is my aspirational place to live in Crawley if I ever win the lottery; ideally one of the four houses that back on to the moat on the far side of it. It is a wonderful oasis away from the more modern builds across most of the town.

We complete the loop and carry on up Crawley Lane, popping out on the Balcombe Road opposite the multi listed Worth Training Centre complex, and head up Turners Hill Road. I had noted this area back in the Autumn, and wasn’t going to rehash this stretch, and so turned into Ashurst Drive and into the battle ground where road signs are concerned. This triangle with Turners Hill Road to the North, Balcombe Road to the west and the motorway to the east has road signs that show the battle between the council and residents for how the road signs should be named.

The Worth Way cuts through the middle, with the streets to the north having the yellow signs of Pound Hill, and those to the south having the dark blue of Maidenbower. Yet most have or have had stickers over the top of the original areas with Worth printed on them, with some of them showing the signs where attempts have been made to peel them off.

Crossing the Worth Way, which is currently showing signs of looking more like a river than a railway, we head to the Worth Conservation Area, and the stretch down from Church Road to St Nicholas’ Church, where there are more listed buildings than not.

On the corner is the Toll House (which was Worth’s toll house), and next to it is the Rectory.

Straight in front of us as we walk along is Street House, a former inn from the seventeenth century.

And as we draw closer to it the lychgate to the churchyard appears,

itself a listed building, and the entrance in to the church itself, one of only three Grade 1 listed buildings in Crawley.

I have passed the church quite a few times on walks, but this is only the second time I’ve been through the Lychgate. Part of me regrets not having brought a camera on that previous visit, as the spire is scaffolded with blue netting around it, and the wonderful inside is not open to visitors in these covid times.

There is a new (well to me anyway) area laid out to the back of the churchyard which looks like it would be a great place for quiet and reflection, especially on a sunny afternoon.

After taking photographs of the outside of the church from every angle, and vistas of the gravestones, which have a higher than expected incidence of Celtic crosses, and only a lone Victorian era angel, we walk across the front of Street House and onto the Worth Way, not making it across the motorway, but instead heading on the narrow and muddy footpath through to Saxon Road, where it is time for some more street sign snapping, getting the Saxon kings named in this little area.

The little sub estate is full of large modern builds, but somehow they feel dark and it is noisy; the wooden fences on the raised bank do little to reduce the constant hum of vehicles speeding along the motorway behind it.

From here we cross the Worth Way, although the railway would have headed on across the motorway in days gone by, the footpath doesn’t, and steps up to the now ground level mark the end of where the council want you to walk. The other side towards the railway really is a stream at the moment.

We are back into Pound Hill now and a little cluster of “Hurst” roads, with two of them leading to the very infrequently used suffix of Keeps.

On Turners Hill Road we head back towards town, passing Caxtons before the pavement runs out and forces us to cross the road. We cross back again at the old school building, with it being closed and a weekend I take a couple of photos of it, the only safe time to take photos of school buildings in these accusatory times.

Back on to Church Road we head along to just before the Worth Way and head along Green Lane, where another listed building (the imaginatively named) Green Lane Old Cottage, from the seventeenth century it is one of only two thatched cottages in Crawley.

Crossing back over Balcombe Road we take the footpath in front of us through to Blackwater Lane, another road with large impressive houses, carrying on to Banks Road and onto The Bower. We can see the footpath that is the Worth Way in front of us, but it is another listed building I came here to see.

Blackwater Cottage from the late seventeenth / early eighteenth century is just about visible through the trees and bushes at this time of year (I’d imagine it wouldn’t be visible much at all during the full bloom of summer).

On the other side of The Bower are two more large modern houses, ones that I remember from passing lots of times, they had always taken my attention from the older and more impressive building behind the trees. They seem darker than I remember, and the dream of living in one of these is perhaps one I’m glad didn’t come true.

It’s time to head home, and so we turn and wander back to Pound Hill parade through the streets named after Sussex castles. On the parade the last thing I note is that the old hardware store is gone, but on the plus side the new store there still deals with nails.

The picture laden version of this can be found on my Medium page at the link below.

https://onetruekev.medium.com/another-crawley-stroll-c4ebd995cfa0

More Of The Same

They say that time flies when you are enjoying yourself. So, I dread to think how quickly these weeks would be going past if I was enjoying myself.

We’ve had a week of no curtains in the bedroom. We have noticed a drop in temperature at night with no barrier to the cold and dark outside the window. Meanwhile neighbours will have complained of sightings of the abominable snowman in the neighbourhood as I’m backlit against the night sky, all white and hairy. Like I’m a character in a Scandi noir crime thriller where no one has any curtains or blinds. The only difference being they have a population density similar to the moon; whereas I’m doing it in the equivalent of a packed campsite.

It suddenly dawned on me – at half five in the morning – perhaps I’m poisonous to animals. It’s been long established that insects don’t bite me. I seem to have a built-in repellent. But seeing Sniffles run into the bedroom before me I though that he has never licked me. Meanwhile, Charlie would be forever licking or trying to lick my hands and knees, and he died of some cancerous growth. Not long before that Willow went the same way, and she had a habit of either licking the back of my head or my feet. I’m wondering, if Sniffles does take it upon himself to start licking me, whether that is a sign to start writing his elegy.

It’s unusual for me to get to bed first, I’m usually the one still pratting about on my laptop, but it was Helen on Friday. I’d got up, rinsed my glass, filled it with water, been for the pre bed pee, brushed my teeth, done a hot water bottle, and she was still on the sofa.

“I won’t be long, it just feels weird not responding to x’s message.” (I wasn’t paying that much attention).

But I did have the thought, what if both Helen and her friend are now locked in a responding death circle? They’re both being too polite to put the phone down and go to bed in case the other one messages back and doesn’t get a response and is thinking the other one is being rude. Whereas in real life, neither will actually think the other is being rude, and in actual fact both of them are praying that the other one doesn’t answer so they can go to bed. They’re both thinking “for the love of god woman, just go to bed and respond in the morning, it’s already midnight and I wanted to be asleep in bed hours ago.”

Meanwhile, I responded to an e-mail someone sent me in November, deleted two sent to me in December without bothering to respond, and looked at one from this week and thought, ‘eff it, CBA responding tonight, I’ll have another look next week.’ And that’s before I looked at my personal ones.

I was changing the bed Saturday morning it was interesting to note the difference in pillow indentations between Helen’s pillows and mine. Her two pillows still look light and fluffy almost as if they haven’t been slept on. Mine meanwhile have a bit of a pancake look with a deep impression in the middle as if a sixteen-pound bowling ball has been there all night.

Sunday saw a little wander around in the sunlight. As always, we started out from Southgate. First, we went across Southgate playing fields, taking in the surrounding vista, then through Hawth Woods, and across into Furnace Green. I’ve done various walks through Furnace Green before, whether just looking around, or going through to Tilgate or Maidenbower. And what always fascinates me is the wonderful array of different housing through the estate. Chalet style bungalows, modern terraces, semi-detached, detached, three story blocks of flats; and in so many different styles. What is also wonderful is the effort made to keep little oases of green, whether in public areas, or in the cramped front yards of houses. Coming from the Hawth we came down to Waterleas, through the little estate of Norfolk place names, and into Forestfield Conservation Area and back out to Weald Drive, before leaving Furnace Green behind to come back past the locally listed Tilgate Parade and back up to home in Southgate.

Once back at home it was mainly watching sports. Spurs managed to hold a lead in another insipid display (no matter what the commentators were saying). Only for them to be out insipid-ed by the Liverpool vs Manchester United game. The NFL was a lot better, with two very good games. At least they didn’t go so late as the week before, and it was only three in the morning when I got to bed.

When I eventually got up on Monday, I had a quick wander around Southgate, meandering back and forth between Brighton Road and Horsham Road. Mainly picturing street signs. Took some pics of locally listed buildings on Goffs Park Road and Brighton road, some other impressive looking houses along Goffs Park Road and Perryfield Close, and then did four seasons in one day, and the Brighton Road Conservation Area, though I wasn’t able to find a conservation area sign for Brighton Road itself.

And then it was back to work, or as it is more accurately called on days like Tuesday, sitting around bored to death on calls. Much the same as Wednesday morning. There was no respite from calls out of work either, although I had enthusiastically (well as much as I’m ever going to be enthusiastic) signed up for the latest zoom writing course. Plus, I actually wrote something that wasn’t a blog or FRC, with my first short story in about five months. I’m hoping this new course will kick start some creativity.

Water Bored-ing

Saturday saw the first proper outdoor activity in this lockdown and therefore this year. It was a reasonably nice day and without Charlie being around anymore, Helen was determined to take something out for a walk. So, I charged up the camera, dug out the parka (which, according to the train ticket in the pocket had probably last seen use on 25/01/2019!), and we were off.

The intended destination was Ifield Mill Pond, somewhere I still hadn’t visited on any of my previous wanders over nearly fifteen years of living in Crawley. We headed out through Southgate towards Cheal’s roundabout, feeling strange that we were walking through this area without a silly little black and white doggy. The first detour of the day was into Cheal’s (well Squires now), so I could take pictures of the old Grade II listed Little Buckswood Farm that is surrounded by the more modern garden centre buildings, and its blue plaque.

From there we weaved our way up Buckswood Drive, criss crossing the road like drunken sailors as I took pictures of road signs for future use, making out way to Gossops Green parade, itself a locally listed building, passing the Windmill pub and around the back of the shops to the little wooden shack that is the Crawley Spiritualist Church.

The original plan was to go to the Mill Pond through the back of Gossops Green, but instead we ended up heading down to Ifield Station, via another photo opportunity at St. Theodore of Canterbury’s Church. We crossed over the railway and headed around through Ifield to Rusper Road. It was another road we weaved across like the drunken sailor’s day out. The section of Rusper Road we walked along has a number of Statutory and Locally Listed buildings of different ages and sizes.

We soon came to the entrance to Ifield Mill and the mill cottage. The day before the mill wheel had been running as a tribute, as the funeral of one of the main people instrumental in restoring the mill to working order had taken place.

The mill pond itself is cut in two by the railway line, with a thin channel under the tracks connecting the two. We wandered around the Ifield side all the way until we got to the bridge over the railway and through to Bewbush, and down to the larger part of the mill pond. There is a long wooden walkway across the mill pond, that had signs at the entrance saying it was one way. Fortunately, we were going the right way after our unintended detour around the side. (Of course, there were two idiots with a dog going the wrong way round.)

There were all kinds of birds on and around the pond. None of which could I tell you what they were with any degree of certainty. There were definitely ducks and seagulls, after that I’m struggling. With the low sun at this time of year, and with it approaching late afternoon, there were some good reflections off the surface of the pond, and in some places, there was still a thin layer of ice on the surface that the low sun hadn’t melted away during the day.

Once across the pond we exited back into Gossops Green, at the point where we had originally intended to come in, but it would appear we had accidentally found the better route seeing as there is a one-way system around the pond now.

We walked back up to the parade (with me getting more photos of road signs as we did), and past St Alban’s Church, with its fire station-esque brick campanile, another locally listed building, turning at the corner it’s on and headed down the hill until we got to the country path through Woldhurstlea park, the site of a former manor house, until we popped out of the other end back to being near Cheal’s again.

Avoiding retracing any of our steps we picked a different route back through Southgate. As we were passing the Half Moon pub, I saw a Tudor style looking building behind the pub. It isn’t actually Tudor, though some parts of the building are obviously older than the more modern mock Tudor frontage, and the surrounding buildings. Barrington Lodge is its name, and it is now a bed and breakfast. Despite having walked within fifty yards of it countless times, this was the first time I had noticed it.

Lockdowns seemed to have focused my mind to be on the lookout for buildings of interest in Crawley a lot more than I had before. On what turned out to be an eight mile wander I had seen a lot of interesting buildings that hadn’t really been noticed before. We had been out for three hours, perhaps slightly more than the recommended limit, but it was good to get out, even if my legs feel as if they are made out of stone now. I’m out of practise.

The icing on the cake though, was walking back into the house to the slow cooker emanating the mouth-watering smell of curry.

What? Crawley Has History?

Saturday was showing as being another warm one, but it didn’t prevent me from going for a wander. I was after more pictures of street signs, some to add to collections already started, and others to start new collections or have new complete collections. Yes, it sounds a weird thing to do, but it keeps me out of mischief (allegedly). I hadn’t really planned where I was going to go; I was just going to keep walking until my legs gave up.

I headed towards town, there were some more drinking establishments and churches that I would pass that could be photographed as well. The Railway was first, and the level crossing was just closing as I got to it, which made my mind up as to where I would go first. I took a couple of pictures of the signal box and other interesting buildings as I walked along Springfield Road to Horsham Road, where the level crossing there was just opening as I got there.

The Swan was pub number two (unfortunately only from a photo perspective), and the old St Peter’s church sat in the middle of its own large traffic island in the old part of West Green. I pass the Hallan cash and carry sits in the building that used to be The Crown, as I head along Ifield Road back towards town. I walk down Pegler Way to the High Street and across into Northgate Road and up to the old Dyers Alms-houses, hidden away from casual passers-by only a couple of hundred yards away from the main shopping area of the town centre.

I went back to the High Street and walked along its length taking pictures of the numerous historic buildings, current and former drinking establishments and anything else that caught my eye.

I then doubled back into the entrance of St John’s, the medieval church of the old village of Crawley (before new town status). I was wandering around the outside of the church when a voice called out from under a tree, “don’t take photos in the graveyard, it will remove the spirits”. But enough about his drinking habits.

Coming out of the other end of St John’s grounds and crossed over to the Friary church of St Francis and St Anthony. A more modern church, built in a Mediterranean style to look older, built on the site of a much older church, as the graveyard would attest to. It’s a fascinating graveyard as well, with its own crypt, mausoleums and grand statues. None of which I’d ever seen before. I have walked past the surrounding walls countless times, never really thinking what lay behind them.

I headed east after leaving the friary, past the library and college and onto Three Bridges Road, taking a few street sign photos, before heading over to Gales Drive. Almost hidden away behind trees and bushes on its corner with Crossways is the church of St. Richard’s. A much more modern church than the other three seen so far. Inside the gate are two covered wooden benches at an angle to the path. On one side sat the vicar, and on the other side sat one of her parishioners. After taking photos of the church I had a brief conversation with the pair of them before carrying on, covering just how many places of worship Crawley has, and how the vicar is glad she has chairs not pews inside the church, as it will make reopening with social distancing so much easier.

After the row of shops there was a quick picture of LB1 before making my way back to Three Bridges Road. Three drinking establishments and three places of worship following in very short succession, the last of which now appears to be closed, the white barn looking building on New Street that was a Spiritualist Church now shows no signs of being used for anything.

During this section of the walk my fat-bit had a celebration of me reaching ten thousand steps again, and my legs still felt fine so I carried on. I walked past the Montefiore Institute and around past Three Bridges station, the Snooty Fox and under the railway bridge into Pound Hill.

First up there was the United Reform Church, then it was back across the road to head up Worth Road to St Barnabas’, a stop to get a drink at the parade of shops, past the Knight and then across the open land to Crawley Lane to walk up the hill in the shade until I got to the catholic church of St Edward the Confessor.

I came back down Worth Road to Spring Plat and worked my way around the winding streets there as I was taking pictures of the street names there as they are all names of Sussex castles. Having got them all I went down The Bower and under the Worth Way and into Maidenbower.

On previous photographic adventures during lockdown I have found a lot of street sounds partially hidden by long grass / weeds. This is to be expected, as there aren’t the same amounts of environmental workers out there in these strange times. However in Maidenbower, the residents don’t like outsiders as they think they are special (yes, I know I normally follow that word with needs, but I thought it was obvious in this case). They appear to deliberately grow their trees and bushes so they hide the road signs. This must be a ploy to prevent people from finding out where they are. I did manage to find readable signs for all the collection of building styles, and a couple of others for other collections.

I walked back down the hill of Maidenbower past the Frogshole and past the community centre and shops before my legs started screaming at me, saying enough was enough, and so I got the bus back into town, using my new snood as a face covering. With dark glasses I don’t look like I’m about to rob a bank at all. I had gone through twenty thousand steps at some point in Maidenbower, but the fat-bit hadn’t got excited this time. I later found out that this was because, being cheap, it only holds one level of celebration, not increasing ones as on better known brands.

Once back in town I walked home, back up past the signal box and The Railway where I’d started taking photos on Brighton Road some four hours earlier. I could hear the shower and sofa calling.

That’s My Seat

As is the case most Saturday mornings before writing group, I had wandered into McDonalds for breakfast. Then as usual, I had taken a seat on one of the stools in front of the window looking out over the bus station. One without a tablet in front of me.

I like the window seat as it’s a good place to sit and watch the passers-by, watching for the possibility of there being something or someone I could use in my writing later.

Today however, the character was going to be inside Maccy D’s, not outside. I had taken my earphones out. Eating with them in feels uncomfortable. Therefore I wasn’t blocking out the low level dumb conversations as I do when walking around.

I know that snippets of other people’s conversations is a great source of ideas for writing, but I just feel as if my IQ is dropping when I listen to a lot of what is being said.

Therefore I heard someone say “That’s my seat.” It was in the back of my mind as low level noise, so I didn’t even move my head. Then it got louder.

“Oi, you, you’re in my seat.” It was closer to me , but I was just getting to the good bit of my hash brown so I didn’t look round.

Then there was a hand on my shoulder.

“I’m talking to you.”

I slowly looked down at the hand on my shoulder and then along the arm of its owner up to his face.

“You weren’t speaking to me, you were shouting in my general direction.”

The hand was removed, “That’s my seat.”

And then my inner smart arse kicked in.

“Ronnie, how are you doing? I was expecting someone older. Is it a dress down day today?”

The guy looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language.

“My name isn’t Ronnie, and are you saying I look scruffy?”

“No, when you said this is your seat, I assumed that meant you must be Ronald McDonald, only not in your clown outfit.”

He looked as if he was making to try and forcibly remove me from the seat, so I cut him off.

“And don’t even think about touching me again, you’ve already assaulted me once. Touch me again and I’ll call the police and press charges.”

He looked like he was considering whether to have a go or not, but he went and sat on one of the other three seats available in the row and muttered under his breath. I’m not in the best of moods anyway, so it was tempting just to go and beat the living shit out of him. I resist, but only because that would end up we me being the one facing charges, and not the dumbass little shit. He wasn’t worth the aggravation.

I finished my food and headed to the library. I was well over an hour early for the writing group, so I went and found a quiet corner to do some pre-group writing.

I settled down and had my notepad open ready to do some writing when another random bloke wanders over and says,

“I was going to sit there.”

I looked back at the seat he had got up from to come over and say that. There were half a dozen bags, two jackets and a pile of books on the desk in front of the seat he’d left, so I had to ask.

“Are you taking the piss”

“No, I was going to sit there.”

“Your six bags, two coats and pile of books over on that desk there suggest that you were quite settled there and that you’ve only come over to be a fucking arse.”

“But..”

I cut him off. “Shut the fuck up, I don’t care what whiny excuse you’re going to come out with for you being a twat of the highest order, but I’m really not in the mood for your’s or anyone else’s shit. So scuttle off back to the seat you’d chosen before I turned up.”

“Or what?”

“Or I get a librarian and get you thrown out for threatening behaviour.”

“All I want to do is sit there.”

“Which you could have done, as you were here before me, but you chose a different seat. Now that I’ve sat here, you’ve got seat envy, stop acting like a child and grow up you immature prick.”

He did go back to his seat, and then as I was writing this up in my notepad, one of his friends turned up, so then the pair of them were sat there whispering and pointing in my direction. So I carried on writing, but held my notepad in such a way that I was giving them the V’s. I didn’t see why I shouldn’t be immature as well.

When going home on the bus, I found a spot out of people’s way and stood leaning against the window. No one asked if they could stand there.

Parking Rant

Parking in Crawley can be a pain in the arse. We often find it difficult to park on our own street due to the volume of multiple car owning properties. It isn’t helped by inconsiderate bell ends like Bob the builder from Malthouse Road who parks two of his work trucks in the close instead of on his own street where he needs permits. If only the council would move the need for permits up one more street.

Town can be painful as well. I nipped into the mall one evening last week. The ticket I got from the machine was stamped 17:31. I nipped to the shop I needed to and got back to the pay on exit machine at 17:39. For those eight minutes I was charged £2.50. I won’t be making the mistake of using their car park again, not when it works out to be £18.75 per hour.

I don’t know how they can justify a pay on exit car park having a minimum term of payment that covers two hours at a cost of £2.50. Where are the fifteen or thirty minute options, or even an hour one?

Then there is the car park next to the Memorial Gardens. It’s reasonably priced for longer stays, but the machines never seem to be working. The machine that offers the ability to use cards for payment hasn’t been working on the last four visits to the car park stretching back over a month. The cash only machine was only working twice. Which means there has been no working machine on two occasions.

They then try and force you to use (or try to) the stupid ring and park apps they have signs up for. No good if you haven’t got your phone with you. And even if you do, why the fuck should we have to pay an additional fee on top of the parking cost to use the app?

It’s bad enough that the robbing bastards deliberately set the prices on the machines to amounts they think you won’t have the right change for so that they will keep the additional value you put in because their rigged machines don’t give change. But now they’ve found another way of ripping people off.

Well it doesn’t work on me; I just get back in the car and head for the Kingsway car park instead where it’s a flat rate of £2.50 all day.

The parking wardens must have known the machines were broken. You hardly ever see them on a Sunday, but this week you couldn’t walk more than a few yards without tripping over one of the fucking jobsworths. Rubbing their sweaty little hands together in glee at the thought of putting tickets on cars without tickets.

Bastards.