This post comes to you from a lay-by in Bedford, where we are free camping for the night, near the Priory Marina which is also conveniently placed next to one of the town’s recycling stations. Glamorous this journey is not! As I write, I can hear the sounds of a violent disagreement between a couple who are sitting in a neighbouring car, they are swearing fulsomely and sound close to fisticuffs.

It’s surprising how few spots we’ve found where it is actually quiet.  Often the noise is obvious: boy racers burning up and down the esplanade in Ryde, police sirens in Margate, the machinations of a scrap metal plant in Oxford (cunningly hidden behind a small coppice) and the planes on the flight path into East Midlands airport from our otherwise tranquil spot on a corner of a farmers field. There’s also the two am sound of drunken voices of revelers on their way home, but most persistent of all is the constant hum of distant traffic.  It seems omnipresent, even in small villages which exude the appearance of rustic tranquility.  This strikes me not just as a terrible shame, but also as a sign of the way modern life, with its reliance on technology and convenience, continues to erode even the possibility of a calmer, more natural mode of existence.

 

This entry was posted on Thursday, July 3rd, 2008 at 2:28 pm and is filed under MISCELLANEOUS. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.