TYREBAGGER

Key image. THIS ONE. The Forest Gate. 

We’ve driven past it, seen the signs- “sculpture at the tyrebagger”…mysterious. My brain runs a different way, so I had always imagined the sculpture in question was actually made of old tyres, like a big bulbous and bloated Michelin man. all the tyres- from bike, through car, right up to tractor for the paunchy midrift. Not so. But it was still a guid off tangent walk, made all the better by discarding the mere one hour walk of the red route ( labour OUT) and going totally off the scale and wandering right round the hill.

We fired out and landed in the car park. Now I’ve obviously been there before. but never made it beyond the car park, not sure why, when or walloper. But the whole place looked vaugely familiar. Maybe I’ve conjured it in dreams. maybe I’ve travelled there in those blank moments at work when I just drift off when some daft fucker is asking me about something crafty

HOW WOULD I COVER THIS MACHE UNICORN? I NEED IT FOR NEXT WEEKS MEETING OF THE SOARZE ALBUMEN ULTRA NAT MEETING. 

The kids, as high gain as they are on a weekend are really quite easily amused by a long walk. As this was new terrain, and I was unsure of the outcome I made the prudent investment of filling up the two (pink and blue natch) water bottles just in case things went on and on. Guid move by me. I usually have a heap of fruit in my bag- this time I was reduced to two oranges, no takers on the slog, but fuck it.

RED ROUTE or Blue Route the sign in the car park said. RED was an hour, Blue circa half that- and blue was better for young kids. So the blue route got shit canned pretty quick. The kids will walk all the way from here to Seaton park with very little fucks given.

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