The old problem. So easy for me to get addicted to a routine of doing nothing. And then there’s the addiction of writing once I DO start it. I write too much. Or say things I shouldn’t. Or spiral off on some meaningless, trivial tangent.
Monday – Wednesday of last week: Visiting Canterbury, then Sandwich.
Having ticked off places like Tokyo and NYC and Tangier, I suddenly realised there’s plenty of places in the UK I’ve never seen, and want to see. Typical growing older concern – that panicky sense of ‘1001 Places To See Before You Die’. Or travelling to ‘find yourself’. Though ‘finding oneself’ is nearly always associated with pilgrimages up Tibetan mountains, or backpacking it to Machu Picchu. Picchu’s so macho. Canterbury’s a bit easier. And still a pilgrim’s place.
Though in my case, I was mainly making the pilgrimage to see the Bagpuss Shrine in Canterbury Museum. And there they all are: the original Postgate and Firmin models and toys, arranged permanently in a display to match the TV programme’s shop window. The museum itself was nearly empty: something of a contrast to the Cathedral round the corner, where endless busloads of schoolchildren from all over the world file in with their slightly odd combination of casual sport clothes and not quite trendy band t-shirts (Nirvana, The Cure), the kinds that reveal their Frenchness or Germanness before you get so much as a ‘Zut alors’ in earshot. Perennial pilgrims, albeit curriculum-enforced ones. And god – there’s just so many school parties in town, too. The main street in Canterbury seems 80% clipboard.
I stay overnight in the Canterbury Gate Hotel, which despite the often misleading naming of hotels is right next to the magnificent Gate itself. The Gate is even prettier and more awe-inspiring than the Cathedral proper. But then, I always was fond of gateways and borders over the places beyond. Tangier rather than Morocco. And fond of people who are gateways, too.
What am I doing right now? Oh – that dreaded question. Once the domain of visiting Royals opening municipal buildings, patiently micro-chatting with each staff member in line (‘And what do YOU do?’), we now get this question at Facebook and Twitter. HRH Facebook, Princess of Twitter. ‘And what are YOU doing?’
Well, aside from the night shift media-reading job ever other week, I’m working on a screenplay with two very clever people. I’m also DJ-ing at the London Transport Museum on Friday evening. They still haven’t spelt my name right at the Museum website.
Though the Guardian manages it.
And I still need to write about The End Of Fosca. But better this than another day with no diary entry.
Tags: canterbury
