I start walking…

Started walking to work this week. Prompted by consistently destructive levels of rage generated by the continued non action around the Sloven senior team.  (Despite an extraordinary evidence base of failings.) About 3-4 miles depending on the route. Monday was day 1. Bit spooky walking along a long, isolated stretch of footpath by the river to University Parks. Rich came with me the next day, love him. We found a spooked dog. Pippa. I got to work later than planned. I changed my route to High Street/George Street/St Giles…

Then went to Staffordshire, via Birmingham New Street, on Wednesday so walking was shelved. London on Thursday. Watching walking instead.


Yesterday we walked to town. Raging slightly muted by pounding the streets. Absorbed by watching/snapping everyday life. Back on the High Street, a vaguely familiar couple were snugged up on the bench by the bus stop.


I photographed them before. Four long years ago. In the life that was. As snug. Just mobile.


George Street, Oxford. August 2 2012

Today I didn’t leave the house. Among working and hoovering I started reading Victim and Victimhood by Trudy Govier. Unpacking what and who a ‘victim’ is, what being a victim means and different ways of making sense of victim and victimhood. Silence, blame, deference and restoration. Hmm. I’ll keep reading. And walking.

And get a print of the photo to drop off to the couple who apparently sit on the same bench most days. And, I suspect, have a story or two to tell.

And wait. Still.

5 thoughts on “I start walking…

  1. I saw them sitting on a small wall on St Giles the other day looking very sad. Much sadder than I used to see them when I lived on Iffley Road around the time of the first photo. I would love to hear their story.

  2. Walking is great for the rage and for thinking as you are walking !!

    Love your photos !!! especially the top one for mood. Couple look sweet!

    We must keep going even exhausting.

    Well done on all your hard work.


  3. So glad you’ve got Rich and photography. I try to imagine your pain and rage, but I don’t think I’m even a tenth of the way there. I am with you.

  4. My comment may or may not make sense..

    I don’t know what you see, but those two men remind me of our stories – yours, Sara, and ours – as we were like that with our sons before they died or had to leave us because no one helped save them or us, like we would have helped theirs.
    We didn’t always have to speak with our sons, even silence was heaven, no gossip or competitive thoughts made sense to us. We didn’t need to outdo others. Most normal people can’t imagine this sort of perfect relationship – except with a baby.
    The facial expressions and the look of these men ‘We have each other, and whatever others think of us, we’re free’.

    My parents used to say (translated into English) that most people sleep in comfort and only think of the day; they don’t experience the incredible power of the night – they don’t hear the humble prayers of the poor, or really see the light of the moon.
    That’s why those who use ‘survival of the fittest’ are never at peace. They choose to be predators.

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