I trace the border of Blackpool and highlight it on the map. i take a piece of string and measure the distance. Its about twenty miles, including the sea front. The thing that stumps me is that the border continues out to sea. I dont have a boat to follow that part of the border line. I stay on land. The beating of the bounds ritual is an action that was supposed to bring communities together, a celebration of us and the land we inhabit.
So i start here , where the sea starts / stops. its the North Pier. The sun is out. The concrete seperates me form the sea. KEEP OUT.
I talk to a guy who is fishing. He explains that he is on the corner of the wall. The Bass prefer fast flowing water.I watch it skidding around the shape of the wall. I like his tactics, but he says he has not caught anything for a month. The Codling season soon ( they get braver, come close because of the dirty water) then he will only keep the ones that look older than 5 years, otherwise he throws them back, got to keep the numbers up.
The old boating lake now full of tyres and go-carts still locked away in containers. The fisherman told me this place was completely flooded in the winter. I imagine the rusting go-carts floating in the darkness of the containers. What will the new season bring. We talk about the strength of the tide.
I think about the tide and how uncertain it seems to me here. I think about surfing and how dirty the water is, do people still go swimming here? is it safe? . This walk is making me miss the pembrokeshire coast, its clean water, quiet surf spots yet to be explored and its un concreted edges. Walking makes me too nostalgic sometimes. All these imagiinings and imaginary lines I am following. Yet still i am very present in the coastal wind, its all good.
Dont go down there, people have not come back.someone leaves a note. I dont know who wrote this.
'Piece by piece, I re enter the world.
A new body, A new voice.
Birds console me by flying,
Trees by growing,
dogs by the warm patch they leave on the sofa.
Unknown people merely by performing their motions.
It is like a slow recovery from a sickness, this recovery from ones'self.'
A few weeks ago, a taxi driver told me what he was doing on his weekend off. He said he was taking the grandkids to go see the ship that was stuck on Blackpool beach. He said the kids loved it and it was their third time back. Its better than the telly he said. they love it.
I had forgotten about this conversation and the story about the ship that had been on the local news.
Then i saw it.
it is true , it is better than the telly, its quite surreal.
It gave me motivation to keep walking in that direction, growing in size as i sped up. I felt excited, just like those grandkids probably.
When i get close up , im stopped by a security guard. there is a 400 metre no go zone around the boat. I can see its name.
RIVERDANCE
Get up Riverdance. Show us your tricks , show them your size and style. Its not even trying, defeated by the sand bank.
It looks dead, like a beached whale, like my broken double bass, laying on its side. Everything is still inside, the contents. they will start to cut it up soon.
It does make me think about the coastal motions and getting lost in your tracks, or caught in the tide. This boat has lost its way. I think about migrating sandbanks. They move faster than this boat now.
The boat is right on the border of the cleveleys and Blackpool beach. The cornered off area means i have to walk around the edge of the imaginary border. I get to the start of the border line where i walk away from the sea.
There is a sign on the sea wall.
I head along the street right on the border line, it feels great to be right on it.But not for long, i have to take detours to get round train tracks. With this imaginary border always in sight , it begins to cut houses and churches in half . I have to start watching it in my minds eye. i follow main orads and get lost in a cul de sac. I ask a local resident the way out. I continue into fields and farm houses beside me. i dont want to tresspass so i follow the line again with my eye, walking parrallel to it. So close yet so far. As the crow flies i am weaving in and out and here and there. I think i must be adding up quite a few extra miles.
I am surprised at how suburban the outskirts are. that sounds like a silly thing to say- okay , i was expecting it to be much rougher, maybe ill get to those places later , but for now its all a bit quiet.I can still see the tower every now and again creeping into the horizon
My feet dont feel like they are beating the bounds anymore.
After six hours i feel like the bounds are beating me. No not really, but i do have this pain in my hip socket from the continuous grinding away.
It is this that reminds me of another longer walk, across the yorkshire moors. The Lyke Wake walk challenge. 40 miles in 20 hours. I get lost in a bog at the 18th hour , my hips are teling me its allover.
They are telling me again today.
I head of the imaginary line to the trainline, homeward bound.
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