To get to the bus, I walk my terraced street, as it winds gently up to the crossroads with New Park Road. Then over, and along the narrow canyon of Morrish Road to Brixton Hill. Why does it feel so different to my street? Its only a narrow ribbon of tarmac, but the far side of that crossroads definitely isn't home anymore...
The warm red bricks of my street, which seem to hold any sunlight so warmly, gives way to the disordered styles of Morrish Road. Here its all faded greys, and jaundiced yellows, like the faces of the old men nursing a flat beer and rollie outside the Hand in Hand, as they check the credentials of pedestrians crossing into their strip. A sign on the door reads "minimum purchase 2.50 on match days".
And thats what it feels like. Warm terracotta colours for the home team, stepping into caution and a watchful away team's territory as you cross that street, away day colours marking the difference.
I just tried this observation walk again - right at the witching hour this time, to see what it felt like, trying to observe the street in the night. First off, you feel incredibly conspicuous, especially with a camera. The cliches of windows like eyes leap into your mind's eye. But as you settle into it, I didn't even have to try and 'observe'. Things I'd never noticed burst out in front of me, I couldn't belive I had never seen these little details before. But the whole street also felt different. Its a cold clear night and the street lights were drained of colour. Everything felt Victorian, the cars and for sale signs could easily be old carriages and hoardings, the lighting gas not sodium vapour...
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