Writing Forums

Writing Forums is a privately-owned, community managed writing environment. We provide an unlimited opportunity for writers and poets of all abilities, to share their work and communicate with other writers and creative artists. We offer an experience that is safe, welcoming and friendly, regardless of your level of participation, knowledge or skill. There are several opportunities for writers to exchange tips, engage in discussions about techniques, and grow in your craft. You can also participate in forum competitions that are exciting and helpful in building your skill level. There's so much more for you to explore!


For a while now, i have felt, there has been an awareness , a voice in my head, growing in tone and volume, with each passing Saturday, bored'bored'bored. I was in need of a change, Northampton beckoned.But when you've been awake since 1.30.pm on a Friday, done a nightshift, got home at around 7.30. the following morning, had a few mugs of tea, and kicked off those daisy roots, bearing in mind that i can't just hop on a bus to Northampton, there's a change-over along the way, suddenly it's not such a good idea, "what the hell?" I had no need to go to the library this week, i could get chips anywhere, as with spuds, and i needed something different.

So i got myself to the bus stop, caught the next bus out , went upstairs and started to read my newspaper. I didn't look to see who else was there, i really wasn't interested to be honest, i could hear a male voice talking on a mobile phone. "Have you ever thought of me while playing with yourself?" WHAT? I could NOT believe what i was hearing. The next thing i knew, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz the bus had over-run my stop. I hit the stop button for the next stop, it made this awful screeching sound, dashed downstairs, " next stop please mate". "What are you doing on here? You shouldn't on here, it's a dead bus". By that he obviously meant that he'd done the run and was now out of service. "Well yes mate, i'd like to get off, i'm sorry". He stopped to let me off as soon as he was able, seemed more than just a little irked, i wasn't exactly over-joyed, "thank you", no response, and i made tracks. Passed a street-musician ( i was going to say beggar ) setting out his stall with a saxaphone, i like to hear good sax, but i just didn't have the time.

Amazingly, i barely sat down when my bus pulled in, there was a young woman standing in front of me, 20 ish i'd say, with shoulder length pink hair, and she wore this olive green jacket. It had black leather sleeves, and silver pointed metal studs covered both shoulders. Whatever.
And i could hear a bunch of polish ( i assumed ) giggling teenagers behind me. Downstairs looked busy, so we all went upstairs, and i would have to suffer that shit all the way to Npton:sulkiness:.
At 11.00. ish as the bus rolled into town, i wonder where exactly i'd be getting off, from greyfriars now defunct, to Northgate bus station. It looked cold and unwelcoming, and i felt like a space-traveler in some sci-fi jerk-off. Now i don't know about you but the first thing that comes to MY mind after a journey, of ANY sort, is where's the loo? Well, there it was all shiny and new, with a turnstyle. That'll be twenty pence then, you feck'n bastarts.:ChainGunSmiley:What can i say? When a man's gotta do, what a man's gotta do, but at least it was clean, taps in the hand-basins that produced running water at the slightest touch of the hand,and Dyson Airblades no less to dry one's hands on. And the Colombiano coffee-house, i gave it a swerve and headed for the Drapery, the market, a place that hopefully i could relate to.
The Drapery is where the market has been for god knows how long,a rectangular area of possibly a hundred square metres or so, surrounded by tall buildings, i counted four betting offices, where did they come from? Boots was still there, good old boots.
I was in need of sustenance, CHIPS.There had always been a small trailer/camper-van type set-up selling chips at the top end, when i got there, i saw a shed painted a deep scarlet color, with the words FRYIN BRIAN daubed across the front of it. It was the same guy who been there like forever, he'd just expanded, good on yer Brian. I ordered a cone of chips, and in no time at all, he snatched the pound from my hand, dropped my cone in the serving rack, next to the condiments and was back to his hotplate.

I went in search of spuds as i ate my chips and i found some, five pound of whites for a pound, i was begining to warm to the place. Moolis a pound a bunch, what on earth are "MOOLIS?" They looked like giant parsnips to me.
And " sweet pomelos ", £1.50. a go, buggered if i know.
The oranges were shit, where-ever i looked, oh well, you can't have everything.:neutral:

By now i was in need of a cup of tea. Two burger-stalls and one chip-vendor, but only one of them sold hot drinks, 70p for a polystyrene cup of hot water, with a typhoo "one cup" teabag on a string floating in it, help yourself to "sugar-cubes" and milk. Enough hot water in the cup to prevent a person from hammering the milk, but hey! It was a decent cup of tea. That would of course mean another visit to the loo which means my cuppa will have cost me almost a pound, but i didn't give a damn, i was feeling reckless, toss the cat another goldfish.:razz:

One small market-place, with two burger-stalls, one chippie, and four betting-offices.Mmmmmmmmmm, it rubs.

In a small garden, in the grounds of all saints church, there's a war memorial, and right now it's an absolute riot of pink and orange, Pansies. A huge stone has the following words carved into it, "THEIR NAMES LIVETH FOREVER MORE", i suddenly felt cold, and actually quite proud. There was a tall concrete column at each end of the garden, designed by one Sir Edward Lutyens, apparently, they featured flags, two to each column,brightly colored, hanging and drooping, all made of concrete of course.
All featured the union-jack. One was a light blue, displaying R.A.F. insignia and the jack.The others were red, blue, and white, ( ah'ha! i get it :victorious: ), red blue and white with small jack at the top. Nice one Ed.

then strolled up what is a very wide promenade type affair with shops on either side. It's a bit of a hike, a quarter of a mile or so i'd say, a gradual uphill climb, with a huge building at the top, Compton House....BBC Radio Northampton.
Well, i wandered and i dithered, and for the sake of this post, stopped a policeman to ask, "what is the name of this walkway please?" "Abington street" he informed me with a smile. Abington? Well, that's as maybe, but street? Oh no, it is so much more than that.
Anne Summers no less, stood side by side with Moss Bros. With River Island, Waterstones, in close proximity, the Marie Currie Appeal had parked a bus, litterally, a double-decker, and good luck to 'em, there were countless cafe's with tables spilling out onto the street.
A group of musicians were banging out old searchers and beatle hits, this was no karaoke gig. The place was a seething mass, of color, people, shaking hands, meeting, parting, smiley happy faces, the clothes, the colors, ( one girl wore a t-shirt that displayed the words , party hard, sleep late ) there was energy, vitality, life being lived, there was a buzz, humanity at it's best, as it ought to be,and just being there seemed pretty cool, and it felt good.

I made my way to the Grosvenor centre, so many people, you couldn't just wander from side to side, i was, we All were, swimming in a sea of people, watching for waves with an eye on the current, and darting from side to side, where and whenever possible, going with the flow, and i even fed off that, it was just a most wonderful experience. I can't believe how it seems to have affected me.

Abington Street?
See it.
Hear it.
Feel it.

And as i leave, feeling so, FAZED/DAZED/WILD/CRAZY/SHOCKED/WOW!

I'm back at Northgate, and as i board my bus i'm left to ponder, ten miles down the A14 and i'm still trying to gather my senses, make sense of it all. Shell-shocked springs to mind.
One thing i DO know is, Northampton rocks.

And wouldn't you know it?
I get to the end of the first part of my journey, and within minutes my bus turns up, but by the time i get home, off my bus even, i'm starting to feel a little frayed. I'm dirty, i'm smelly, i'm tired, and the dogs are barking.
It's been a long stint and now i'm home.

I have had the most amazing day, an epiphany almost.


I had planned to give this draft status, but i messed up, so here it is.
I would have liked some kind of crit with a view to self-improvement,
but it's out there now.
I was never going to do this justice anyway but you have to start somewhere.:neutral:


enjoyed the bus journey ....you don't realize somedays just what you experience until you write it down,,hey.
Escorial,i felt like a kid in Disneyland, everything seemed so "full-on".I shall have to go again, and not let myself be concentrating on getting home.Usually, when i go out on a Saturday, because of my working nights, i'm kind of conditioned, a very well practised routine. I see it out, and get home.I could get there a bit earlier, but as with any other town, it needs time to wake up, observe and carry out it's ablutions.Street-life isn't happening at 8.00. am.Well, it is, but it's a very different street-life at that time of day, then one moves over for the other.The one that i saw yesterday.I really to go THERE, and sit with some chips, and my notebook.Y'know? So much happened yesterday, the mind, and the senses were absolutely whizzing, and yet my blog seems empty.I'ts like a half-done painting, without color.It seems so incomplete, maybe this is where you guys can help.I left out the the goth dressed in black chiffon, the tall buxom girl with the tatts on her breasts, and no way could i articulate the effects of that war memorial garden. Another day, it'll all look/seem so very different, that day is gone now.I feel as though i could write a book just idling in the small world that is Abington, it had everything, yesterday.Before yesterday, i had planned to put something in "how was your week", something so different, a million miles away from the blog, and nothing happened.Yesterday was such a surprise, i found myself totally intoxicated, like getting drunk, giddy almost. And like the drunk, so much past me by, with my barely having caught a glimpse.Next time perhaps.:neutral:
I had intended to post this blog in "how was your week" but after all the time it took, i can't say that i edited, but, i trimmed, pruned, and altered things, i tired of it, i just couldn't be bothered.

Blog entry information

Last update

More entries in Creative Writing 101