The Memory of Cement

I sometimes find it hard to believe that places stay in the same err, place, it is me moving around. I mean to say, my patterns of movement change and places that were once close and familiar become far away and exotic. Even places that are twenty minutes drive away.

A few days ago, H, searching for industriously photogenic places asked me for suggestions. Rugby Cement immediately sprung to mind. It is the only place I could think of locally that has an iconic tall tower belching a smoke-like substance that I'm sure is steam. The building is visible from the road, ripe for the pupil photographer with a brief to explore HDR (I don't know what that is either) on a deadline.

In my twenties I worked in Rugby in a job that involved driving about the town, I got to know the place well and would routinely drive past the factory. The only thing was, I couldn't remember the route. I could picture the shape of the trees, the hump in the road which I once went over too fast almost runing into the car in front and making my passenger, who never spoke, gasp. It was a therapeutic breakthrough at the time. I just couldn't remember the road network that linked it with Coventry. The sat-nav, I found, drew a blank when asked for Rugby Cement. Driving through the sleet in the general direction, I hoped for the best and tried to hide my surprise when we came upon it by accident.

How things change. The factory looks the same, but the hump in the road is all smoothed out and being turned into a jazzy roundabout. The run-down industrial estates that bordered the place are still there, but there is a shiny new addition. A block of first time buyer flats, "50% Sold" trills the poster. Some of the flats have floor to ceiling windows with balconies. They overlook the cement works. The lorries are their neighbours. A room with a view indeed. I'll bet that the residents love it. Not the view itself, but the having of a place, living the new carpet dream. Live anywhere long enough and you cease to notice the ugliness.

This is a blog entry that deserves a photo. I would have asked H for one, but she is busy with her new fad, a borrowed bass guitar. Also, for ages now, I haven't been able to get pictures to upload.

In more disturbing news, Blogger have made alterations and I can't find the spell checker. Humble apologies. Think of it as some sort of spot the mistake quiz, and I'll try and sort it all out next time.