Much of today’s square was taken up by stuff that loosely lumps together under the heading of ‘infrastructure’. Railways, roads, round- abouts and railings. Big metal things. Corrugated sheds. Padlocks. Pylons. Pick-ups with orange hazard lights. Men in hard hats. Things I don’t understand but that I know are important. All the ‘Keep Out’ signs on this grid square were definitely for the best. 

I tried to get a closer look at a 400kV electricity substation, but its mysteries were obscured by rings of trees because, between 1968 and 1973, an admirable 725,000 tall trees, 915,400 smaller trees and 17,600 ground cover plants were planted to screen substations across the land. 

My limited interest in infrastructure exhausted, I followed a cycle path alongside the dual carriageway, dodging broken bottles amid the traffic roar. The smells of warm tarmac and diesel brought back fond memories of cycling the world’s highways. I peered down from a bridge at an overgrown pond, thick with slime and dotted with traffic cones. Then I turned off at a slip road and rode into a town. There were large, 

detached houses at the top of the hill, and the homes became smaller and closer together as I freewheeled down towards the town centre. A pony and trap cantered by, ridden by two young lads in vests, and trail- ing a patient line of backed-up traffic in its wake. I left the main road to go and cycle around some residential estates. 

Over the course of this year, I’d always enjoyed visiting grid squares that most approximated wild countryside. And I also liked the busy towns brimming with human life, beings equally intrigued by man- sions and poorer areas. Today I was bang in the middle, riding through street after street of suburban homes.