17 Jun Sanford Walk
I travelled outside my territory for work. I had time to spare, and drifting, found myself in the neighbourhood which was home thirty-five years ago. Street names began to shake loose from my memory – Pagnell Street, Trundleys Road, Cold Blow Lane. The open square of sky that I loved in the park is still visible. But the map logged in my mind is now tessellated with modern brick-built blocks. Play areas and landscaped amenities now spread where unmanicured industrial spaces used to be. The young adult me encountered sub-cultures of all kinds in Sanford Walk. It was my first experience of living in community. The end wall of the housing co-operative was slowly marked out and painted by mural artist Brian Barnes. ‘Riders of the Apocalypse’ – with its images of Thatcher and Reagan riding war-heads, is faded but still here. Today I met two friendly people from a new generation of community-builders, who welcomed me – a time capsule from 1983. I search my memory for lost fragments of my history. In those days I tinted my hair pink, wore a ‘bib’n’brace’ with DM Boots, painted cartoon images, made vegetarian lasagna and bought 12” singles. Trains rumbled past my mint green bedroom window. Commuters looked in to see strawberry-icecream pink walls. My house mates were worldy-wise lesbians. I was naïve and optimistic, but emotional jelly inside. The losses and joys since then have shaped me, and standing here again I can feel the distance I have come. My sexuality is no longer a mystery. I am still living in queer community with people who share a sense of indignation at the injustices in the world.
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