The bedsit window. About to leave. It was about 8:45pm when I left for my evening walk.
Up my street, just left the house of bedsits.
Twilight gathers.
St Annes Well Park.
The alleyway from St Annes Well to cromwell Road.
The shops at Seven Dials. Slightly blurry.
Put my hand over the wall of the bridge I crossed and took this photo of the railway line. Too high to see over it otherwise. A railway country, a remote state. Like landscapes in the clouds seen from aircraft.
Back when I used to live at Wilbury Crescent, I would often stop here on my way back from the old call centre to buy snacks and tobacco. For some reason, this newsagent always had an atmosphere of near unbearable tension, as if whoever was working there was waiting for some dreadful event to happen...
Lyndhurst Road. Suburbia. Houses, streetlamps, cars. I like walking through here at night. Always something slightly secret about it.
For a while there were no street lamps here. With the railway to the left and that wall to your right, it was, for a while, wonderfully eerie walking through here when it was dark...
'The Morning Bridge' as I christened it, -as I discovered it walking to work at the petrol station one still dark morning. It is a footbridge across the railway track that ran behind our old flat in Wilbury Crescent.
Across the bridge. When I used to cross here in the still black mornings of the petrol station winters, I would always imagine a black dog waiting for me here...
My old flat at Wilbury Crescent across the road. The dark upstairs. Next door was where that broight first floor light is shining from. Well, I say 'was'. It still is next door. I'm not though...
Wilbury Crescent. A better shot. My old flat is the one directly underneath the street lamp. My room was beyond that dark looking balcony.
...a mess of industrial estates, car dealerships, old churches that now hold gymnastics classes for children, houses and tall street lamps... always quiet here at night...
...through the industrial estate just past Wilbury Crescent and Hove Station, looking into dark, remote lots...
...these places look skewed at night, a fragmented space...
...another empty dream-like shot of a twilight industry...
...coming to the end of the industrial estate behind...
...and up to the petrol station where I worked for five and a half years, from 2002 until 2007...
It was good to catch up with Mike again who was working there when I was working there -before me in fact. Strange being back at the petrol station. Had been refurbished inside so looked really different. It still had that same timeless and remote feeling in it though, oddly lulling and a little disquieting.
Across the dark forecourt when I was leaving. Mike was shutting up for the night.
The car wash where I once accidentally locked the ex-boxer and Brighton celebrity Chris Eubank inside.
Just past the petrol station. This was the sight that would greet me as I prepared to walk along the Old Shoreham Road back to my flat on Buckingham Street when I lived there... there is something, I always find, so nocturnal and implacable about this view, as if the street lamps are some kind of personification of the vast night behind.
Back to my street again. The white street lamp heralds home...
The bedsit window. About to leave. It was about 8:45pm when I left for my evening walk.
Up my street, just left the house of bedsits.
Twilight gathers.
St Annes Well Park.
The alleyway from St Annes Well to cromwell Road.
The shops at Seven Dials. Slightly blurry.
Put my hand over the wall of the bridge I crossed and took this photo of the railway line. Too high to see over it otherwise. A railway country, a remote state. Like landscapes in the clouds seen from aircraft.
Back when I used to live at Wilbury Crescent, I would often stop here on my way back from the old call centre to buy snacks and tobacco. For some reason, this newsagent always had an atmosphere of near unbearable tension, as if whoever was working there was waiting for some dreadful event to happen...
Lyndhurst Road. Suburbia. Houses, streetlamps, cars. I like walking through here at night. Always something slightly secret about it.
For a while there were no street lamps here. With the railway to the left and that wall to your right, it was, for a while, wonderfully eerie walking through here when it was dark...
'The Morning Bridge' as I christened it, -as I discovered it walking to work at the petrol station one still dark morning. It is a footbridge across the railway track that ran behind our old flat in Wilbury Crescent.
Across the bridge. When I used to cross here in the still black mornings of the petrol station winters, I would always imagine a black dog waiting for me here...
My old flat at Wilbury Crescent across the road. The dark upstairs. Next door was where that broight first floor light is shining from. Well, I say 'was'. It still is next door. I'm not though...
Wilbury Crescent. A better shot. My old flat is the one directly underneath the street lamp. My room was beyond that dark looking balcony.
...a mess of industrial estates, car dealerships, old churches that now hold gymnastics classes for children, houses and tall street lamps... always quiet here at night...
...through the industrial estate just past Wilbury Crescent and Hove Station, looking into dark, remote lots...
...these places look skewed at night, a fragmented space...
...another empty dream-like shot of a twilight industry...
...coming to the end of the industrial estate behind...
...and up to the petrol station where I worked for five and a half years, from 2002 until 2007...
It was good to catch up with Mike again who was working there when I was working there -before me in fact. Strange being back at the petrol station. Had been refurbished inside so looked really different. It still had that same timeless and remote feeling in it though, oddly lulling and a little disquieting.
Across the dark forecourt when I was leaving. Mike was shutting up for the night.
The car wash where I once accidentally locked the ex-boxer and Brighton celebrity Chris Eubank inside.
Just past the petrol station. This was the sight that would greet me as I prepared to walk along the Old Shoreham Road back to my flat on Buckingham Street when I lived there... there is something, I always find, so nocturnal and implacable about this view, as if the street lamps are some kind of personification of the vast night behind.
Back to my street again. The white street lamp heralds home...
