Hobson’s Conduit

My dream was towards the more disturbing end of dreamland. I was at the wheel of a large vehicle (a Range Rover I think) which was in a car park on top of a multi-storey building. The vehicle rolled towards the edge and instead of applying the brake I distinctly recall deciding to risk the barrier blocking my fall. It didn’t and I plunged to the ground, landing the right way up like a cat. I drove off at the bottom, but should have been dead. This symbolises that a) my future is uncertain, b) I am extremely reckless or c) I think people who drive Range Rovers in urban environments are incompetent.

After this awakening the day could only improve really couldn’t it. I enjoyed the out-of-office message from a donor contact in the US government. ‘I have gone fishing’. That may be one of the few strategies to get any peace and solace in the US at the moment.

I’m clutching at ideas for new walking routes. I explored a path for the first time alongside a watercourse known as Hobson’s Conduit, which passes by various allotments, thickets and bridges, emerging in a more open patch of land near the railway tracks. I cheered at a new field to skirt before remembering I have in the past ridden my bike down 1.5 sides of the same field. I might have to conclude there are relatively few unexplored corners of the city at this point. I might also conclude that the UK is unlikely to have other places with ‘Conduits’. They must be more popular in France. Hobson’s Conduit is pictured here at its more ‘urban’ end. Hobson of the Conduit is the same as of the Choice, FYI.

It’s my friend Nicola’s birthday so I called as I walked and as usual we had a rambunctious catch-up with Tom and their three boys. Isaac has apparently developed a six-pack during lockdown thanks to Joe Wicks’ morning classes. Seb told me they now have six chickens and two rabbits. Isaac and I talked about a shared appreciation for dangerous marine life and we somehow arranged that I would take them on a South African road trip when Isaac hits 21, so that we could go cage diving with great white sharks. As he’s only 9, I didn’t get into my moral quandaries about this activity. We’ve got about 12 years until all of this will be happening. I wonder if I’ll be back in Southern Africa by then...