These images waited for me. I simply walked. 

For a decade, often setting off at dawn from the centre of the water-logged Recreation Ground,

always in a new direction, I would walk to the edges of this place. With the ghostly play-horse

as compass, I stumbled into an accidental exploration of the hallucinatory textures of a small-town.

With a scuffed and borrowed camera and permanently damp notebook, I became increasingly convinced

that almost everything I needed was within a four mile radius of the horse's sad and peeling eyes. Perhaps it is.

text and photography copyright Julian Hyde
watercolours copyright Alasdair Maclean