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August 8th 2010    Tim Candler

    I'll take photographs of the factory.  For some reason I have it in my mind as a yellow building.  More likely this image is a consequence of somewhere else.  One of those drifting things that allow dreaming pictures and fleeting ideas to look out of a travelling window and see a concrete form.

     I think it was John Betjeman of "come friendly bombs and drop on Slough" fame, who wrote a dreadful and mawkish poem about invisible places seen from the window of his moving train.  The village folded into hills, soon gone from view.  And the question was "did that place actually exist?" 

    Make no mistake, I have always enjoyed dreadful and mawkish words from a mind which in another context contains a dark humor.  I lived, briefly, in Slough.    Long afterwards when I read "come friendly bombs and drop on Slough,"  John Betjeman could do no wrong.

      But the factory has a value in my own imagination that transcends its color.   It does so perhaps, because it matches a preconception.  And often this confluence offers a comfort which conceals error.  

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