Rural Dystopia Dartford (6 oct 09)

Not exactly an exploration in the boat, but I ended up on a Speed Awareness course courtesy of Kent Highways due to passing a speed camera in Tunbridge Wells at 38 mph with the boat on the roof over the summer, so maybe an explorations spin-off



The course was held at the plush, lottery funded Dartford judo club but the nearest station, Stone Crossing was in a different world. The day had barely dawned with thick heavy cloud cover which gradually condensed into drizzle then rain. Stone Crossing is too small and insignificant to merit anything like a bridge between the platforms, so alighting passengers have to take their chances on the level crossing instead.

on one side of the railway lies a Travelodge, burger king and a dual carriageway; on the other a quiet leafy country lane leading up to the village, past the cottage-sized "Village Lads" pub, built in 1857 they say, a place looking like it might rather be in the north of the country or may be Holyhead, and maybe like it shut down in 1858 but nobody noticed. Next a few 60s houses, all but shuttered up, and then out along a road with larger,comfortable looking houses, plenty of space but the gardens and pergolas are now overgrown with buddleia and bindweed. a kids bike lies tossed on the front step: no risk of theft here because no-one ever comes here. whatever purpose this place once had has been forgotten. the place seems to have been deserted by its inhabitants, a dead village waiting for interment.

the lane leads on up the hillside, past open fields, but these too are overgrown; overgrazing by horses has left rank yellowing grass, coarse docks rusty red dripping drizzle and brambles tangled. The place has the appearance of some blasted heath, or perhaps dartmoor, horses standing, grimy flanks streaked with rainwater, grey rain down to a sunless sea of grey warehouse rooftops.

and then out from the fog rears majestic the dartford crossing bridge, red lights of retreating vehicles the only colour in the dank landscape. the thames should be down there somewhere, but is concealed by the clutter of 21st century functionality. The road climbs onwards, the hilltop criss crossed by high tension cables, an old metal beacon incongruous and inconsequential beneath the wires.

a non-place on the edge of nowhere.

with relief I find the judo club with its clean white walls, sport england logos, modernist water feature and reassuring car park.