Travelogue in Time of Plague

 I had forgotten I'd been to Luton for professional purposes in January. For the purpose of the day job I have since derelicted in favour of spending more time with my books. I had thought the furthest I'd been this year (from Portsmouth) was Chichester and, since lockdown, about four miles away on foot, which is only about three miles from the house as the crow flies. I did used to go on aeroplanes to other countries but increasingly came to agree with Larkin's dictum that he wouldn't mind going to China if he could come back the same day. I'm not convinced that travel broadens the mind unless the mind has already been broadened to appreciate the place travel takes one to.

But it was about time I extended back into at least some of the orbit I had previously voluntarily reduced myself to. Namely, Swindon, famous for its Magic Roundabout, a Wonder of the World listed just outside the Top 7, not far below the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

    If and when you go to such a place, it is customary to take a photograph or two and the Magic Roundabout from this vantage point is augmented by the ravishing backdrop of the County Ground where, in the retreating mists of time, I have witnessed the visits of such legendary names as Notts County, Crewe Alexandra, Newport County and, I'm fairly sure, Fulham.

I haven't got much of a list of places to go. Lubeck, where Dietrich Buxtehude did his best work, was once on it as was a tour of places Bach worked in Germany and I'm sure Japan would be great but I'm not going. I can't convince myself I believe in travel. I was glad to get to Swindon before the possibility of further lockdown.