I’ve extended my route back from training sessions, so that I loop through the neighbourhoods past more homes and stretches of pavement that catch the morning sun. I want to see how feasible it might be to walk 50 or 100 Miles for Mermaids in May, in a normal daily way. This walk is also my ‘anonymous early morning retreat’ (AEMR) – a phrase I’m stealing from David Bailey (not that one) because I love it. Like the training sessions, if I do the walk I’m generally happier. Everything out here is unfolding for me, I only need to leave the house to see it.
I need Instructions For Leaving House, otherwise my brain tricks me into thinking that I don’t actually need to leave the house. This is a set of instructions I’m creating for myself, of little tasks to do while walking around the neighbourhood. Look for 10 different flowers. Learn the names of the ones you don’t know. Describe, draw or take a photo of each one with your phone. Notice only pink things. Describe, draw or photograph each one. How many animals do you see? The instructions get me out of the house and lessen to possibility to creating obstructions for myself. ‘I’m not going on a walk, I’m going to work.’ They lend me a structure through tangible tasks. They shift my brain’s focus away from anxiety loops. My jaw slackens. Most importantly, the instructions encourage me to notice deeply, which usually leads to ideas. That’s when we’re really cooking. When I’m walking, and noticing how many people now have those doorbells with cameras or how it’s easy to spot blue things but harder to find pink things, and having ideas and getting excited by the ideas – that’s when I’m really living.
Look at 10 different doorsteps. Describe what you see.
A small ceramic squirrel. Hazelnut brown with a white tummy. Eating carefully from its claws. Faded by the years. A stripey brown and black doormat. Hard bristles. Fallen petals from a bright red, show-offish camellia, in a pot textured like a walnut shell.
Signs in windows. What do they say? Norwich stands with Ukraine. No junk mail through this door please. Have fun. Shake it at your own pace.
For the third or fourth time lately I take a photo of the door of the community centre, where the signs are posted. Turning around, I see a middle-aged man in the upstairs window of the house opposite. He’s standing directly in the sunlight, straight back, hands at his sides. Tanned skin. Baby blue polo shirt. I meet his eyes. I wonder if it looks like I’m up to no good. It’s good to stand like that, washed by the full power of the sun.
There are other homemade signs, quite a lot when you start to look, but they’re not in windows. A brightly coloured, happy poster slipped inside a plastic wallet is fixed to a tree trunk outside the church. “Do something local to celebrate… EARTH DAY.” On several lampposts on this street, and in fact many streets in the area, a woman has taped a CV-like poster advertising her cleaning and dog-walking services. There is a photograph, and her contact details.
Vote Green Party. Stop. Flu jab, no fuss. Chair beauty room nail bar for rent. Want to lose weight? It’s time to experMINT.
It’s an invasion of privacy to photograph posters in the windows of peoples’ homes, but some of them are really good. Kids’ drawings or patronising signs. Britons! Do your duty. Support striking workers. The local elections are two weeks away. This year is the first time I’ve leafletted for a political party. I did it to get out of the house. And probably to try to absolve myself of some guilt or feeling of helplessness. But putting leaflets through doors doesn’t make me feel any less guilty. It makes me feel watched. Most of the houses in this area don’t have front hallways, they just open directly into the sitting room. I push my fingers through the letter boxes, imagining the tips poking through the bristles on the other side. Somebody watching it all from the sofa. Pushing the leaflets, I make a concerted effort to smile for the doorbell cameras, the eyes behind the net curtains. I am representing this party.
All your window and conservatory needs. Neighbourhood watch. We want proportional representation for the general elections. Adopt don’t shop. Norfolk Greyhound Rescue. Allcock Family Funeral Services. Proud to support life boats. Are YOU the next big thing? Have you seen this man? Wanted for theft.
The point is to get outside to see the things. I don’t need to record them. But I have a collecting problem. What if I need them later?
I’m not sure about these cameras. If I’m not photographing the signs in your window, is it right to record me here on the street? They value observation as much as I do. In the name of security, though. Or communicating with the Amazon delivery person, whoever who delivers the post. Would I feel any less unease if I felt the doorbells were here because we all love the world and what unfolds and don’t want to miss a moment of it? In my mind I push the doorbells and whoever lives here answers through the speaker. They’re not at home right now. What can you see? I’m sitting at my desk. Who is there? Lynne and David. What’s under your desk? A pedestal. What’s inside it? Some cereal bars. Pens. Phone charger. My trainers in a totebag. Where are you? Who are you, fuck off. Where are you? I’m at work. What are you doing? Watching my Tupperware in the microwave. What can you see? Sophie reading the Metro, eating a sandwich. Where are you? I’m at work. What are you doing? I’m writing the time onto a clipboard at the end of a bed.