An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations

By Hugh Vaughan

An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations is part memoir, part history, and part essay. This book explores the fragments of a life lived, what Michael Foley, a poet and writer, calls, “re-connectings and re-combinings, late recognitions and reconciliations.” The topics have been the author’s life-long interests and have been life-changing. Career is the obvious one, taking the author away from his native Ireland. Other historical events include: the Northern Irish Troubles, the IT revolution to the more recent, Covid pandemic and Brexit.
Patrick ffrench, the writer, described psychogeography as “an analytic pub crawl”, a lived experience where one drifts from one place to the next; observing, noting, reading, reacting. We may drift through a city, a book or a life and absorb. The picture on the book cover, represents the author’s journey from the borderland region in Northern Ireland to emigrating to Melbourne, Australia. The author re-connects these traces in a series of essays. Further essays include health, death, reading and writing, liveability, happiness and life skills, emigration, IT teaching, travelling, humour, house sitting and finally, a journal of the pandemic.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Hugh Vaughan
• Release date: May 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215554616

Hugh Vaughan

Hugh Vaughan was born in Ireland and currently lives in Melbourne, Australia. He lectured and worked in Information Technology in Northern Ireland, Wellington, New Zealand and Sydney & Melbourne, Australia

Book preview

An Analytic Pub Crawl

Wanderings and Observations

By Hugh M Vaughan

Also

by

Hugh Vaughan

Cillefoyle Park

A fictional account of a true story, about a Derry-based mediator between the British government and the IRA.

Borderland

A great insight into Derry and the Troubles of the 1970s, James Duffy, Irish American Journal

See my website for further details – hmvaughan.com

Fragments of an Analytic Pub Crawl

Fragments of an Analytic Pub Crawl is part memoir, part history and part essay. The title describes the psychogeographical nature of the book. Patrick ffrench, the writer, described psychogeography as an analytic pub crawl, a lived experience - one drifts from one place to the next; observing, noting, reading, writing, reacting.

A Bump on the Road

Childhood memoirs of growing up in Northern Ireland.

Cups of tea, bread toasted by the fire, the mother's knitting and slaloms through the clothes line made it a typical Irish upbringing for Hugh and he takes us delightfully through life’s little journeys and a much simpler time in A Bump On The Road, Mark Stokes, Irish Emigrant.

© Copyright 2024 Hugh Vaughan

In my head, there are several windows that I do know, but perhaps it is always the same one, open variously on the parading universe, Samuel Beckett, Irish Writer.

Fallor ergo sum, St Augustine, 5th Century.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act, the rest is merely tenacity. The fears are paper tigers. You can do anything you decide to do. You can act to change and control your life and the procedure, the process is its own reward, Amelia Earhart, American aviation pioneer

Table of Contents

Foreword

An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations

We emigrated to Melbourne.

Write the story of a contemporary.

England, it was not really emigration.

The internet, is that thing still around?

On Writing.

Liveability

Life is an obstacle course.

Brexit.

A journal of the pandemic.

Alicante Calling, 2013 – 2014

Travels of a House Sitting Grey Nomad.

What’s the craic?

Reflections on an Analytic Pub Crawl.

Foreword

On St Patrick’s Day, 2020 in Alicante, Spain, we were in lockdown. It was a Monday and I started writing this book. Saturday was Day One of a seven-week lockdown. After this first and only lockdown; society, people, shops, cafes, and businesses were allowed to operate under certain conditions: mask-wearing, social distancing and sanitising, the New Normal.

Car parking spaces on the city’s streets became cafe terraces. Restricted numbers were permitted into shops and cafes, with social-distancing and mask-wearing becoming compulsory. Against the backdrop of this Covid pandemic, I started to write again, drilling down into my notes, into my interests and everything else in between.

Embarking on this literary voyage became a sanctuary during those uncertain times. Researching, once again, was the most enjoyable part of going on a literary wander, a dérive. I have collected hundreds of articles over the years. They were from various sources: academic papers, book reviews, essays, newspapers and more contemporary sources, like The Conversation and the Irish Times.

For four or five hours a day, I immersed myself into writing, rewriting, researching and thinking. Initially, confined to my apartment during lockdown, but more often it was in the afternoon, overlooking the tranquil expanse of the Mediterranean, specifically the Playa del Postiguet in Alicante. I was in no hurry and neither was the pandemic. It raged throughout the world as I wrote. Living with the virus was the slogan.

An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations is a reimagination of my previous book, Fragments on an Analytic Pub Crawl that merges reportage, history, memoir, and essay. Northern Irish poet and writer, Michael Foley, suggests that everything fragments and flies apart, apparently irreparably, but often there are strange, unexpected re-connectings and re-combinings, late recognitions and reconciliations. This book delves deeper into those fragments, exploring the nuances of reconnections and reconciliations.

I have lived during historical events, the Covid pandemic, the Northern Irish Troubles, the IT revolution, and Brexit. I trace their imprints, and where they intersect with my life. My eclectic interests span the spectrum, encompassing themes of health, literature, urban livability, happiness, personal development, migration, education, technological revolutions, global exploration, humour, and a candid chronicle of the pandemic experience.

I wished the essays within An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations carried a humorous tone reminiscent of Spike Milligan’s anarchic wit, Kurt Vonnegut’s absurd yet dark humour, and a touch of Tom Sharp’s satirical character, Wilt, whose actions spark chaotic sequences leading to comedic mishaps. In Ben Elton’s Identity Crisis, there’s a contemporary parallel with a detective who fumbles into politically incorrect situations with every word spoken.

After writing my first two books, A Bump on the Road, a creative memoir of childhood experiences and Cillefoyle Park, a fictional account of the Contact, inspired by the true story of a Derry mediator between the IRA and the UK government. I knew I had to produce a third book, but what? Countless ideas rattled around in my head. The memoir kept popping up but I didn’t want to write another creative memoir, like the first two. Then, the pandemic struck, ushering in lockdowns and constraints that afforded me ample time for reflection and writing. Serendipitously, the concept for the third book emerged effortlessly. The content was there, waiting to be shaped.

However, Rosemary, my wife, felt version one of the previous book Fragments of an Analytic Pub Crawl comprises of two distinct books. The first part chronicled growing up in 1960s and 1970s Northern Ireland against the backdrop of the Troubles, while the second part comprised the collection of essays outlined earlier. Consequently, I embarked on a rewrite and update. Art is never finished, only abandoned, advised Leonardo da Vinci. The first segment evolved into Borderland, while the essays formed An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations.

The memories of my childhood in Northern Ireland hold such profound significance for me that they inherently thread through all my literary works. The cover of my book symbolises my personal journey, beginning on the Irish roads, navigating away from the turbulent times of Northern Ireland into the tranquillity of Donegal, and later, as an adult, embarking on a new chapter Down Under.

Psychogeography.

Psychogeography serves as a lens through which one can explore the echoes of the past within urban landscapes, offering a poignant metaphor for the journey of life itself, a profound examination of one’s personal history. In my writings narrative, I’ve woven this concept as the core thread, shaping the arc of the story. The act of walking and reading becomes a form of self-education, akin to Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s notion of alert reverie - a state of dual presence, simultaneously rooted. This duality is often present in artwork.

Titled An Analytic Pub Crawl: Wanderings and Observations, my work embodies this journey, lived through the prism of psychogeographic excursions, where my meanderings and explorations serve as both literal and metaphorical drifts. Coined by one Psychogeographer as an analytic pub crawl, this activity embodies the essence of psychogeography, fostering a profound connection between walkers and the urban landscape, and for me, a connection to the broader world - a fusion of reading, travel, wandering, and absorbing the myriad sights and sounds that surround us.

What does it mean to absorb the sights and sounds of a city? It is using one’s senses to process our link to the outside world. Throughout our lives, we experience a constant stream of sensations and a multiplicity of messages. Ashley Ward wrote the book, Sensational: A New Story of Our Senses and lectured at Sydney University. She writes that for all that our perception seems like a coherent, singular sensory experience, it’s a harmony of many distinct yet compounded senses. She said there are more than five senses, and as many as 53. Touch, for instance, is a composite of multiple different senses that could be subdivided. Then, there are others such as equilibrioception (the sense of balance) and proprioception (our sense of our body’s position) that lie outside the original five.

Open your ears and minds to the people around you? Listen to those on the radio, those in books; immerse yourself in the beautiful, sometimes devastating humanity that surrounds us, and strive to understand. To protect our brain cells and nourish our minds, we must deepen and enliven our relationships through attentive listening.

People are inherently fascinating, each with their own unique story and perspective. It’s intriguing to consider that if someone appears boring, it might be an unconscious defence mechanism to maintain distance from others, advises Moya Sarner is an NHS psychotherapist and author of When I Grow Up – Conversations With Adults in Search of Adulthood.

One of the most important things you can do to prevent dementia is to wear a hearing aid if you need one, her research for the book has found. Exercising regularly, eating a healthy diet, not smoking – they all help, as you’d expect, but not as much as a hearing aid. It’s the loss of being able to communicate and listen. Building a better life begins with being as truthful to yourself as you can, and listening to whatever it is you find, really listen, she says.

A sense.

A sense can be defined as a faculty that detects a specific stimulus by means of a receptor dedicated to that stimulus. For example, when light enters our eye, it is absorbed by a molecule known as a retinal, which is found within the light-receptor cells of the retina. Regulation and conditioning are actively carried out by the brain. The integration of sensations and sensibilities plays a powerful role in our perceptions, she wrote. This is an interpretation, so it’s subjective. It filters the information.

Our senses are at the heart of all this. They are the interface between our inner selves and the outside world. They equip us to perceive beauty, from great art to the grandeur of the natural world, and to appreciate a sip of an ice-cold drink and the sound of laughter. She says that the senses are so important that they make life worth living.

Tjebbe van Tijen coined the term literary psychogeography in 1976. Remnants of the past: fragments, scratches and traces can be used to keep memories alive. Literary psychogeography can keep those memories alive because it enables people to wander freely through space and time with eyes and ears / looking and listening. It examines the influence of physical surroundings on the instinctive behaviour of individuals as recorded in literature. Does a text contain some psycho-geographic element as may occur in a quotation describing physical surroundings, and their impact on the mind? There are no limits to the influence of the mind on a life lived, on city streets, on literature, and on the world around us.

If you are going to write.

If you are going to write, you had better come from somewhere. For any writer, the essence of their work is often rooted in their origins. Mine trace back to Ireland, a land steeped in myth and literary brilliance, yet scarred by a history marked by colonisation and turmoil. I delve into contemporary toxic issues such as the pandemic, Brexit and Irish politics.

Spain was where I wrote version one and Australia was version two. Echoing the sentiment of Thomas de Quincey, I embrace the ethos of wandering without fretting over routes or distances, a philosophy that has guided my journey across Ireland, the UK, New Zealand, and Australia, each nation offering its own tapestry of experiences to scrutinise. Today, my wanderings bear a newfound purpose, a deliberate exploration driven by the desire to understand and engage with the world around me.

I came across another H M Vaughan who wrote An Australasian Wander-year. So I am not the first to be H M Vaughan to be a nomad. He was a Herbert Millingchamp Vaughan who lived from 1870 to 1948.

Weaving throughout all of this discourse, I assume the role of an ambulatory time traveller, observing life’s intricacies from a distance while immersing myself in the role of a flâneur, absorbing and emotionally responding to my surroundings. As Seamus Heaney articulated in his essay, The Emigrant and Inner Exile, the writer’s path is one of intuition rather than the earnest path of logic. A philosophy that resonates deeply with my own artistic journey. Thus, I find myself navigating the unpredictable terrain of creativity, guided by the subtle whispers of intuition along the way.

Numerous individuals have contributed to the shaping of the books at various stages, yet foremost gratitude is owed to Rosemary, my wife, whose unwavering support has been a beacon throughout this journey. Ron West deserves special recognition for his invaluable role as a friend, mentor, and editor, despite the occasional perplexity caused by my Northern Irish mannerisms. I am also deeply indebted to Elma, my sister, whose insights into our shared childhood enriched the initial draft with invaluable nuggets of wisdom. My website contains further information on my books and photographs related to all my writings, just type in Hugh Vaughan or you should find it at: https://www.hmvaughan.com.

© Hugh Vaughan 2024

An Analytic Pub Crawl, Wanderings and Observations

Patrick ffrench, a professor at King’s College London, likened psychogeography to an analytic pub crawl, highlighting its immersive nature. It involves drifting from one place to another, a lived experience, attentively observing, noting, and reacting to one’s surroundings. This drift can occur aimlessly through a city or metaphorically through life itself. It’s a process of absorption and reaction, quite distinct from the traditional notion of a drinking pub crawl. This is the dérive or drift. It is a feature of psychogeography, where the participant wanders through cities, observing and reacting to their attractions and encounters. Psychogeography is the fact that you have an opinion about a space the moment you step into it, says the writer and psychogeographer, Wilfried Hou Je Bek. That space may be a book or an article, in other words, sentences linked together that may ignite a thought or an emotion.

Urban topography is one of fragmentation and dispersal, a separation of objects and their functionality. Charles Baudelaire named this person, the flâneur, a figure conceived in 19th century France and popularised in academia by Walter Benjamin in the 20th century. A romantic stroller, the flâneur wandered about the streets, with no clear purpose other than to wander in a fragment of the urban landscape. The flâneur was generally a dandy, i.e. someone who prided himself on dressing in the highest fashion, but he kept a distance from the scenes around him. The latter part I can identify with, certainly not the first. I am happiest in shorts and tee shirt.

In 1860, the French writer, Charles Baudelaire, urged the artists of Paris to paint modern life. In an essay entitled On the heroism of modern life, he wrote, The life of our city is rich in poetic and marvellous subjects. Constantin Guys, a painter, a flâneur who ambled through the Paris arcades. Free from the pressures of the workaday world, he sought the random encounters that the city streets were always ready to offer. He saw the crowd, just as the air is the birds and water that of the fish……., the ebb and flow, the bustle, the fleeting and the infinite. Baudelaire said of Guy that the crowd to him was an enormous reservoir of electricity that gave him the opportunity to be away from home and yet to feel at home anywhere; to see the world, to be at the very centre of the world and yet to be unseen by the world. There is a sense of buzz, a frisson in a busy city street. In this busy world, perhaps the flâneur is due for a revival. The solitary and thoughtful stroller derives a singular intoxication from this universal communion, says Baudelaire.

Just as the past has left traces in today’s built environment. Each of us leaves our own traces. This book traces the journeys of my life, but it’s only a snapshot. These are my observations, my reactions, my analysis, of life’s pub crawl. Stewart Home, the English artist and writer of the London Psychogeographical Association, states: The psychogeographer . . . knows that the world cannot be recorded, it can only be remade. Remaking the world is usually done in smoke-filled cafés or pubs, where ideas ferment and perspectives shift. As for whether this remaking leads to tangible action, the answer remains elusive.

Visiting traditional pubs has always been a joy for me, where the ambiance is filled with music and camaraderie fostered by dedicated publicans. Some of my favourite haunts have included The Drunken Poet in Melbourne, acclaimed as one of the finest Irish pubs outside of Ireland, and owned by the delightful, Siobhan. Another spot was The Brothers pub in Fitzroy, managed by the McKernan brothers, renowned for their ballads and much more. Occasionally graced by the heartfelt performances of Deccy from Drumshanbo. Additionally, there was the Robins pub in Alicante, overseen by the always-welcoming Reza, whose establishment boasted rocking music, warm fellowship, craic, and, of course, a reliably good pint of Guinness. Each of these pubs, with their unique atmosphere, offered a welcoming sense of community.

Traces of the past have fascinated me.

Traces of the past have fascinated me. The remnants of the past: weathered signs, faded advertisements - ghost signs, as they’re called - old shops tucked away in dim alleyways, graveyards, ancient walls, and forsaken homes and structures. They all carry a whisper of history, a glimpse into bygone eras. In Ireland, many homes were deserted due to emigration or the passage of time. Inside, I’ve stumbled upon cups, books, holy pictures, and chairs, each item once cherished in someone’s abode. There’s a palpable sense of lives once lived within those walls.

On Facebook, Abandoned NI chronicles such stories. A first-century Roman column was outside our apartment - a converted medieval grain store - in Castelnaudary, near Toulouse, France. I made a ritual of touching it daily, feeling connected to centuries past. Cities and towns are layered with history, sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle, but if we pause to look, we can feel the echoes of the past. It’s not just the physical structures; lives themselves have layers waiting to be uncovered.

Psychogeography is a term that encapsulates the exploration of the soul or mind of a place or, for me a piece of writing or artwork. The prefix psycho originates from Greek and pertains to the soul or mind, reflecting a significant aspect in this context. It resonates in words like parapsychology, psychedelic, psychiatry, psychic, psychological, and psychology, all of which delve into the depths of the human psyche. On the other hand, geography comprises geo and graphy, with geo stemming from the Greek word for earth, and graphy implies writing about something. Thus, psychogeography involves writing or thinking about the essence of a street, a ghost sign, a building, or any other object or experience that captures one’s attention and evokes a sense of the soul of a place, or object, or writing.

A suitable starting point for defining psychogeography lies at the intersection of psychology and geography. Here, the psychological experiences within urban environments converge with the essence, or soul, of a place, shedding light on various aspects of the environment. Psychogeography serves as a tool for comprehending the interplay between histories, myths, and contemporary landscapes. It may involve reflecting on a journey, reflecting on people and their present or past experiences.

Exploring how different places or pieces of writing evoke feelings and influence behaviour is a central aspect. While psychogeography often delves into the past, it can also encompass contemporary observations, emotional responses, and the transformative effects of place on individuals. Psychogeography integrates the now, the place, the memory and the history. We examine the here and now and our response to it. Then, pause. Meditate momentarily on what you see or experience.

I make it a point to visit graveyards during my travels whenever possible. I have just returned from one where Ned Kelly, the Australian Bushranger, has connections. His Granny, relatives, his right-hand man and some innocents killed in a siege, are buried including a child. The local graveyard serves as a convenient lens through which to gauge the essence of the community surrounding it. Reading the inscriptions on headstones offers insights into the history of the community, its allegiances, and shared moments of tragedy. There is a practice called graveyard meditation, in which people afraid of death meditate in graveyards. Graveyards possess a psychogeographical allure, with perhaps the most renowned being Père Lachaise in Paris. It’s the final resting place of luminaries like Balzac, Chopin, Colette, Moliere, Piaf, Bizet, Oscar Wilde, Modigliani, and countless others whose names reverberate through history.

During our visit to a Prague cemetery, we encountered a group of Australian students from Wesley College, accompanied by their choir and band. They were there to participate in a commemoration for Australian servicemen buried during the Second World War. It was a touching experience, followed by conversations with the students and teachers amidst the solemn atmosphere.

At the Waverley graveyard in Sydney, near where I once lived, I discovered poignant stories of early immigrants, some of whom passed away at a young age. The gravestones bore inscriptions revealing their origins, predominantly from the UK and Ireland, with birth towns proudly etched on many. Of particular significance was the grand memorial to the 1798 Irish Rebellion, crafted from white Carrara marble and adorned with sculptures, plaques, inscriptions, and mosaics, crowned by a towering 30-foot carved Celtic cross. Within this memorial lie the remains of Michael Dwyer, a leader of the revolutionary movement who passed away in 1825, and his wife, Mary, who joined him later.

The Waverley graveyard forms part of the picturesque coastal walk leading to Sydney’s renowned Bondi Beach. Yet, beneath its scenic beauty lies a sombre history, including the tragic murders of gay men, a dark chapter often overlooked by tourists and locals alike. Today, the area is perhaps better known for hosting the Sculptures by the Sea exhibition along the pathway. This juxtaposition of past and present embodies the essence of psychogeography, a constant interplay between historical narratives and contemporary experiences. As William Faulkner famously observed, the past is not dead. It isn’t even past.

The concept of a palimpsest.

The concept of a palimpsest, where new layers of meaning overlay older ones, resonates with this psychogeographical journey. My stories attempt to reinterpret and reconcile the events of the past with the present. In the words of Yeats, we merely enumerate old themes, perpetuating a timeless cycle of reflection and renewal.

Psychogeography treats the city as an exploded museum or gallery. Remnants abound: a decrepit building, a fading century-old advertisement on a wall, echoes of a forgotten era. It’s a journey into the past. My personal landscape, the shattered museum of my existence, adorned with word portraits. My psychogeographical realm encompasses experiences, literature, history, urban landscapes, ideas, and voyages.

A seemingly ordinary moment can captivate our attention, as poet Patrick Kavanagh suggests. It might be the pumping of air into a tyre, the cafe owner mounting his motorbike, or Baxter the shoemaker diligently tapping within a cramped shop, redolent of sawdust and leather. Alternatively, it could entail encountering two bronze cannons submerged in tanks, remnants from the Spanish Armada, or a poignant photograph depicting the surrender of German U-boats after World War II. Whether it’s a structure, a piece of art, or a few eloquent sentences, these instances allows us to pause and reflect. Sometimes, such encounters evoke a visceral, emotional, or intellectual reaction. or physical or mental response.

Geography is also about the way a space is remembered, recorded, mapped and navigated. In Melbourne, many of the city’s service lanes have never been named, new names are embraced. Thus, Blender Lane has now been officially designated by the City of Melbourne, complete with a street sign. This is years after Adrian Doyle gave it that name because it was the lane next to Blender Studios. ACDC Lane, is named after the band. In Bendigo, Dimples Lane is officially named after the street artist, Mr Dimples, who worked there.

Numerous streets in Melbourne bear names derived from colonial figures, reflecting a broader trend in the city’s nomenclature. For instance, Melbourne itself was named after the UK Prime Minister, Spencer Street, following his chancellorship, a characteristic practice among colonialists. Seamus Deane, an academic and writer hailing from Derry, describes this phenomenon as a process of radical dispossession. He argues that the act of naming or renaming a place, race, region, or individual is inherently an act of possession, emblematic of colonisations impact.

It was seen as bringing Christianity, commerce and civilisation to backward countries. Caroline Elkins, a writer on the subject of the British Empire coined the term legalised lawlessness to describe the self-serving methods by which Britain spread the rule of law and then viciously bent it to serve imperial ends. There are also moves to replace colonial place names and remove statues of colonialists. A statue of a slave trader, Edward Colston, in the city of Bristol, in the UK was thrown into a harbour by anti-racism protesters. It was retrieved by the council and taken to a secure location to be hosed down before becoming a museum exhibit. In Hobart, a statue erected in 1889 of William Crowther, a surgeon and politician, is being taken down. In 1869, he was suspended from his role at Hobart General Hospital for mutilating the body of William Lanne, who was wrongly regarded as the last Aboriginal Tasmanian man.

We navigate the city by different means: through established routines, leisurely strolls in parks, designated cycle lanes, or guided by cherished memories. In inner-city neighbourhoods, landmarks like the corner shop, the local pub, quaint lanes, railway stations, or tram stops serve as our navigational aids. While Google Maps presents the city as an interconnected web of roads, train tracks, and tram lines, others, such as landlords, bureaucrats, and lawyers, perceive it as a lawscape governed by regulations and title deeds.

Animals, on the other hand, navigate the urban landscape using their unique senses and perspectives: dogs rely on smell and sight, possums traverse by trees, telephone lines, and building eaves, while pigeons, crows, magpies, and seagulls observe it all from above. Each perspective adds layers to the rich tapestry of urban life.

Guerrilla Geography.

Guerrilla Geography was created by geographer and explorer Dan Raven-Ellison to challenge children and adults to experience every aspect of the world around them in a more meaningful way, challenge preconceptions about places; engage in social and environmental justice; and form deeper, more active community connections.

Guerrilla geography is a learning strategy that uses play, exploration and engaging the senses to facilitate meaningful connections to the built and natural environments. It can be used as a pedagogy for imaginative education that encourages learners to use their creativity for exploration and imagination in a mission-based, place-based series of activities that challenges students to interact with the cultural and environmental landscapes around them, including the local community. Guerrilla geography maps paths, giving names to them and making them places. It is creative, as well as investigative. Officially, a place might be called something that is a matter of politics and language rather than how people relate to it.

Slow Ways was also developed by Raven-Ellison during one pandemic lockdown in the UK. The idea is to get people walking between locations they might otherwise drive to or take public transport to - via existing off-road paths and bridleways - and to promote slower types of travel. Walking is important for so many reasons. There’s a climate, ecological, health and financial emergency and walking can help reduce personal emissions, save money and bring joy. Life has slowed down in lockdown. Now people are reconnecting with their surroundings and discovering new things about their country. I hope Slow Ways will help them to continue to do this, he explains.

Slow travel, slow ways, and slow food.

Slow travel, slow ways, and slow food is about having a slow mindset, an approach to travel or food or simply a walk around the neighbourhood. It emphasises connection to local people, cultures, food and music. It relies on the idea that a trip is meant to educate and have an emotional impact, similar to psychogeography, and to be in the present moment. Our activities should be sustainable for local communities and the environment.

The slow food and slow travel movement tries to use homegrown services, stimulating local economies by using traditional, family-owned restaurants, touting the benefits of using regionally sourced ingredients rather than eating in chain-based restaurants. A challenge for coeliac-me to purchase healthy food at a reasonable price.‍

Embracing a slow mindset encourages travellers to immerse themselves in the offerings of local communities. Instead of chasing after bucket-list destinations or focusing solely on tourist attractions, the emphasis lies on engaging in the everyday activities that bring joy to locals. This philosophy reflects my experience as a house sitter. While it doesn’t mean disregarding the opportunities for tourist photo ops, considering the limited resources of time and money, the lasting impact of genuine connections often outweighs hurried visits to popular sights.

Spending nearly three years in Alicante exemplifies our slow travel. Sheltering during the pandemic provided the perfect reason to linger in this sunny haven. Although brief stints in chilly Manchester during March and visits to London and Cork broke the routine, we’ve largely sidestepped the typical winter experience since 2022, when we were in Melbourne. Our time in Ocean Grove along the coast during winter was marked by clear blue skies, offering a refreshing break from the conventional notion of winter.

French theorist Guy Debord.

French theorist Guy Debord coined the term psychogeography and originated within the context of the French Situationist International movement, which emerged in 1955. The Situationists aimed to critique modern capitalism and its alienating social processes while proposing solutions that classical French Marxism failed to address. Despite their revolutionary beginnings, they envisioned the city as the future battleground for a conflict over the meaning of modernity. This struggle for urban space, both literal and metaphorical, largely defines the Situationist movement. The modern city is discussed later in this book in terms of its development and livability, serving as the focal point.

Inspired by the nineteenth-century French poet and writer Charles Baudelaire’s concept of the flâneur - an urban wanderer - the Situationists recognised the importance of navigating the urban environment and local life. However, wandering the labyrinth of the city was not considered a waste of time, but rather an essential part of the psychogeographic exploration. Just as we need life skills to navigate life, we need skills to wander the labyrinth. Although, there is a tendency, as we say in Ireland, to simply arse about.

Debord observes our inclination to observe rather than engage actively. In today’s urban landscape, many individuals are frequently absorbed in their phones, resulting in a collective detriment as their world becomes increasingly online. It may be timely to consider setting aside the phone and re-engaging with the immediate surroundings.

Understanding the principles of the Situationists presents an opportunity to shift focus away from our phones and rediscover the vibrant fabric of cities. Given the continued omnipresence of phones, their influence is unlikely to wane soon. Leveraging geo-tagging features on social media platforms and sharing locations could inspire others to explore new places, tracing the origins of captivating images. While there’s a risk of overwhelming unique city corners or natural sites with crowds, this approach could also foster respectful engagement beyond mere photo-sharing on phones. It intertwines personal experiences with the past or present, a phenomenon the Situationists termed détournement, or hijacking.

Urban art installations and street art.

Urban art installations and street art serve as tangible expressions of détournement. Such installations might cause us to pause, reflect, and perhaps daydream of alternate lives, amidst the barrage of images, both on our phones and in the urban landscape. Mark Holsworth, through his blog of his explorations in Melbourne, actively participates in this détournement. Reclaim the Streets movement, deeply rooted in Australia’s history, champions community ownership and agency over public spaces.

An insurgent against the contemporary world, an ambulatory time traveller is how Will Self, the writer, describes the practitioner of psychogeography. These perspectives have evolved alongside notable contemporaries like Ian Sinclair, who delves deeply into literature and history. For practitioners of this art, it’s not merely about walking; what they engage in is known as a dérive. It transcends the physical movement of muscle and sinew; it delves into culture and the lives lived within buildings.

As Churchill once remarked, We shape our buildings, and afterwards our buildings shape us. It encompasses more than just the physical structures - it encompasses homes, communities, societies, cities, and the people therein. It’s about discovery, about seeking the soul of a place. Yet, that soul or spirit can be discovered in a literary extract or a simple aphorism.

Alan Bennett eloquently expresses this in The History Boys: The best moments in reading are when you come across something - a thought, a feeling, a way of looking at things - which you had thought special and particular to you. Now here it is, set down by someone else, a person you have never met, someone even who is long dead. And it is as if a hand has come out and taken yours.

Life on Mars.

Life on Mars is one of my favourite TV series, where a detective is transported back to 1970s Manchester to do some detecting and is an example of hauntology, which is telling a story that nearly always invokes ghosts, bringing back something from the past. Hauntology is a philosophical concept that embraces ghosts, invented by the French philosopher Jacques Derrida for his 1993 lecture, Spectres of Marx. At its most basic level, hauntology ties in with the popularity of faux-vintage photography, abandoned spaces, and ghost signs and there is a notion of posterity here, a way to live on, simply part of the whole Western literary tradition.

Today, Derry’s Halloween festival is the largest in Europe, with the usual array of spooks, skeletons, witches, light shows, parades and bands. Hauntology is that eerie realm where time collapses and our past memories and associations haunt our minds, like a ghost, especially ghosts of childhood memories. Additionally, the future, with its unmet expectations of life or dream jobs, can also haunt us. There are bloggers whose hauntological writings discuss popular culture and media and how they haunt our minds through recurring memories.

Psychogeography embodies an exploration of local life, an immersion in the everyday. It involves meandering on a dérive, strolling the streets, and discovering old advertisements on walls. While the physical and mental exercise is rewarding in itself, encountering points of interest like a local park in a myriad of streets or a piece of graffiti that may spark questions about the nature of modern youthful expressionism. Take Melbourne’s iconic Hosier Lane, a haven for graffiti artists turned tourist attraction.

My own drifts in the city involve wandering and observing: whether it’s a plant in a garden, a tree in a park, a bird perched on a branch, or the classical porch of a 1930s cottage. It could be a weathered tea advertisement from the 1950s adorning a converted corner shop, anything that prompts one to linger longer, to reflect.

Such sights can be found while wandering the streets of Northern Melbourne’s inner suburbs or exploring Alicante on the Mediterranean coast. These drifts may include encountering a single sentence or word in a text that causes one to ponder its deeper meaning. These are my fragmented explorations, flowing like a film, offering reflections or providing a bird’s-eye view of one’s existence, just as Alan Bennett suggested.

These drifts through Melbourne’s suburbs evoke thoughts of The Australian Ugliness, a book written in 1960 by Robin Boyd, an Australian architect and social commentator. Boyd’s work served as a critique of Australian architecture, particularly focusing on suburban design. He was particularly critical of the prevalent architectural features. His observations shed light on the challenges and shortcomings of Australian suburban architecture. One professor of architecture called Australian houses, tents with tin roofs, which exposed their lack of insulation. Many of my overseas colleagues who came as guest lecturers could not believe how cold the suburban houses were.

Tents with tin roofs.

Tents with tin roofs is the term used for these cold Australian houses and have made renters particularly susceptible. Concerns aired on ABC radio suggested that tenants feared repercussions if they voiced complaints, fearing potential eviction notices, despite legal obligations mandating landlords to furnish suitable heating facilities. Better Renting, a community organisation, conducted an investigation into the extent of coldness in Australian residences, monitoring 70 sites over a period of approximately seven weeks during winter.

According to the World Health Organisation, a safe and well-balanced indoor temperature for a home during winter should not be below 18 degrees Celsius. Maintaining an indoor temperature of at least 18 degrees Celsius is deemed essential for ensuring a safe and comfortable living environment during the winter months. Joel Dignam, the founder and executive director of Better Renting, declares, even in some relatively warmer parts of Australia, the average temperatures are still really low. So in New South Wales and Victoria, the average temperature in the rental properties we’re tracking is still below 18C. Australian houses are so cold they’re making people sick.

In the Sweltering Cities 2024 Summer Survey Report, 68 per cent said they felt unwell on hot days or during heatwaves, but this was higher for renters at 80 per cent. For people with a chronic illness, it was 85 per cent and for those with a disability, 90 per cent.

NSW and Victorian residents reported similar rates of discomfort at 67.8 per cent and 65.5 per cent respectively in Queensland. There it was 74.1 per cent. Sweltering Cities’ executive director Emma Bacon said the results reflected Australian anxieties about the cost of living and It’s having physical and mental health impacts on a broad section of society.

About 78 per cent had air conditioning at home but 65 per cent of those said that concerns about the cost of running the appliance kept them from using it.

Geelong GP Jenny Huang recently took part in an open letter calling on the Victorian government to implement cooling minimum standards for rental properties, including mandating air conditioning and insulation.

Huang said high heat affected a range of medical conditions, and could even lead to more incidences of domestic violence. I see a lot of that in my clinical practice. Those who have intellectual disabilities … they tend to not have the financial ability to ensure they have nice ventilation and air conditioning.

Associate professor in architecture at the University of South Australia Lyrian Daniel said Australia’s housing stock was poorly suited for the climate – especially rentals.

I think it’s under-acknowledged … that our housing is pretty poor quality when compared to our international counterparts, she said. I think this is all coming to a head more and more every summer and winter, basically because of cost of living pressures for so many households.

Daniel said climate change will make the problem worse, particularly for renters, people with chronic illness and people with disabilities.

New homes.

New homes must meet minimum standards, seven-stars for energy efficiency. The rating measures how much energy is needed to heat and cool them, and is known as the Nationwide House Energy Rating Scheme (NatHERS).

A seven-star energy-efficient home built today is designed based on outdated weather data, and as the climate warms, will only provide the comfort of a tent by 2070, new modelling from advocacy organisation Sweltering Cities and sustainability not-for-profit Renew found.

It found that the amount of energy needed to cool a home in Brisbane was set to more than double by 2050. Its seven-star rating would be almost halved to a rating closer to a tent than a home, under a moderate climate scenario by 2070. The rating falls to zero stars in Brisbane and Cairns by 2090 under a high-emissions climate scenario.

Rob McLeod, policy and advocacy manager at non-profit Renew, said Australia was building the next generation of zero-star rating homes unless the weather data used in NatHERS was updated.

We looked at how hot a home would get without an air conditioner. A home that is built today at seven-star ratings will have the same temperature during a hot summer day in 2070 as one of those 1.1-star rental homes does today, McLeod said.

A spokesperson for the Department of Climate Change, Energy, the Environment and Water said it was reviewing the issues raised in the report.

The department works closely with CSIRO and other research partners to ensure the climate and technical data underpinning NatHERS is as accurate as possible, the spokesperson said.

In many