Shildon

I’m still not one hundred per cent sure how this devilish garment of delight came to be in my possession, although it was followed by a whisper of Vikings and a slight smell of theatrical make up and the glow of the lime light, that hung to it like the shadow cast under a cloudless moon.

All this I disregarded as I took it on my travels to a peculiar place known to the locals as Shildon, a place steeped with heritage and history, the cradle of the modern railway. Well at least that’s what the local tourist help desk claims to all the lost and weary travellers whose footsteps have strayed, looking for the bright lights of Bishop Auckland. On this meandering visit my aim was to assist in the bringing of the joys of Digital photography to the participants of the local Innovations centre. A motley crew of finer folk will be hard to find I wager.

These fine folk took the coat and I with it (for little choice did I have not to go with it warming my frozen limbs) around the local surroundings where they took many a fine picture one moment we where stood by an un-washed car of some disrepair, the next by a ye olden drinking fountain with ornate arches and at last it was to the bus stop before departing back to the centre to learn the art of Haiku and other complicated poetical devices that serve many a person well.

Although this was a parting for me and the jacket of mystery I have a feeling our paths may cross again, I don’t know when and I don’t know where, just feel like they will cross again.