Jamie Adams


Walking

I walked to work today. I used to walk everywhere when I was younger and slimmer and couldn’t drive; partly because I hate public transport with a passion that most reserve for those that commit heinous crimes. Who in their right mind wants to be that close to strangers early in the morning?

I don’t live that far from my office - 2.5 miles door to door according to Google Maps. That didn’t seem too bad, so I marched smugly past my car this morning and headed in the direction of town.

My walk to work is not particularly interesting. It takes me past a long row of terraced houses, a huge car park, a railway crossing, alongside the Victorian cemetery and then on to Spring Bank; a melting pot of takeaways, off-licences, newsagents and houses of multiple occupation. Surprisingly there are a lot of drunk people around at 8am on a weekday morning and I had to step around empty cans and comatose bodies to continue my journey. I was a bit scared that I was going to be robbed. It rained a little.

My carefully formulated plan was to walk to work and get the bus back. The singular flaw in my carefully formulated plan was leaving my debit card at home and being unable to obtain my bus fare. So I walked home too. Now I am too tired to do anything but I need to iron my clothes for tomorrow.

I’d like to tell you that I enjoyed my walk; that I saw things that I wouldn’t have seen from the warmth and comfort of my vehicle, or that I was inspired and invigorated by the fresh air and the blood pumping around my body. That would be a lie. But I did make it, and felt a sense of accomplishment for my efforts.

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