This is now. Easter Monday; evening.

But we wanted to tell you about another place, another time.

Not so very far away, not so very long ago.

A month ago we began our exploring, in Lincoln. A week of research, of following hunches and rumours around corners and alleyways, up hill and down. We have notebooks full and pictures to add and a return visit to make; and for now, as we start the next journey, we’ll add things piece by piece to this journal, living in the now (Bank Holiday Monday in a hotel room in Spalding) and reliving that recent past.

So. A flavour of then. 

Steepness and sightlines. Waking to the sound of cathedral bells (and there are other church bells now as we write). Trying to ignore that story (should we always avoid the obvious, or is it sometimes the right thing to follow?). Walking. Gathering. Pigs from a set of farmyard animals, mottled pink and made of lead, that we might insinuate into the cabinets of the Usher Gallery. A book about skiing that makes us imagine another way of traversing this hill. A clock shop that we will return to and record it’s trickling ticking river song… Enough for now. Here is a picture white hartand we shall return to this later.

Now. Bank Holiday Monday. Spalding. Waiting for a market…

 

 

 

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