Middle England, Part One

After a year of travel all over Europe, to some of the world's most exciting capitals, my last trip with my current company sent me to....Basingstoke, middle England.

Basingstoke doesnt have too many claims to fame, Elizabeth Hurley was born there, but that is about all i can think of. although i had actually never heard of the place before starting my current job, in the past year i have made more trips than i would like to recall to this odd location, and each time i have felt completely like tourist. many of my english colleagues dont believe me when i say that, but then many of them are from small english towns that might well be very similar, so i guess it doesnt hit them as incredibly different as it does me. london is an international city, where you can find anything you want, and thus we are quite isolated in london from english reality. a reality which is utterly terrifying.

you walk out of the train station and you will see massive newish yellow housing complexes on your left. but i always have to walk straight and down the brick steps in front of the station. they take you into a nasty fleabag shopping centre that is currently under reconstruction, but which leads (eventually) into a newer and slightly more posh shopping complex. i am not one for shopping complexes in general, but this one is worse than most. yet the town is designed in such a way that it is nearly impossible to get from the train station to where i am going without going through the mall. but the mall is massive and i manage to get lost everytime, even though everytime the analyst i travel with and i try to record exactly where we need to turn and so on. after i eventually manage to find the correct exit, i have to wander through the supposed "old town." basingstoke often gets mistaken for one of the post war "new towns" along the lines of Milton Keynes, but it isnt. it has actually been their for several centuries, it just manages to feel as soulless as an artificial post war invention.

i frequently have to kill time in basingstoke, waiting for meetings or for trains back to London after meetings have concluded. there are a few pubs that colleagues and i have tried. there is the one that has handcuffs behind the bar and neon drug prevention lights in the toilets, where your feet inevitably stick to the floor. there is the one with the beer garden filled with people in track suits. they stare at us as we walk in, three outsiders dressed in suits. there is a tattoo parlour and a dominoes pizza. and i know this is not as extraordinary as i think most of small town britain looks exactly like this...which is precisely why i rarely venture beyond zone 2....