So as you perhaps saw in the previous post I went walking in Dunwich
with national treasure Clare Balding for the BBC radio programme “Ramblings.” And she asked me, the way you do, “So what is psychogeography, Geoff?” and I was
ready. I had a bit of paper in my top pocket with Guy Debord’s dreary old definition
written on it: "the study of the precise laws
and specific effects of the geographical environment, consciously organized or
not, on the emotions and behavior of individuals.”
Clare wasn’t much impressed, and I
didn’t expect her to be. I said, as I’ve
said before elsewhere, that I think this is just a fancy way of describing what
most walkers do all the time without having to be in any way aware of the term
psychogeography. Different views are no
doubt possible.
Our radio walk was intentionally “improvisational,” i.e.
not very well planned, and we’d already come to a couple of places where we had
to make a choice between one path and another.
In each case we’d both immediately agreed which path to take. And I said that’s kind of how it always is,
you get a vibe and you decide to follow it, you choose one way rather than
another, and you go the way you like the look of.
And Clare Balding said, and I’m paraphrasing here, yes
but isn’t it different for each individual?
Some people would choose one way, some would choose another, implying
that there aren’t actually any precise laws at work here, just personal tastes
and preferences. I couldn’t have agreed
more. OK, hold that thought.
I was staying in London, in Highgate with Martin Bax,
a very old friend indeed. Martin’s a bit
the worse for wear these days, but he was still able to walk with me to and
from the Tube station at the end of the road.
He did it partly as exercise, partly just to get out of the house and
partly to be friendly. It wasn’t a great
expedition, maybe 20 minutes round trip, but I was glad to see him still mobile
even if he isn’t moving vey fast these days
But here’s a thing: over the years I must have walked between
the Tube station and Martin’s house a hundred times or more, but every time I’d
done it I always walked on same the same side of the street, the south side,
the side that connects more directly the
station entrance. But now when I walked
with Martin he insisted we walk on the other side, the north side, the sunny
side of the street.
This didn’t signal any
antagonism or ideological difference between Martin and me, but it did suggest
that we weren’t responding to any precise
laws and specific effects of the geographical environment; Martin just liked to
be warm.
