My life has been packed up into varying ikea bags and boxes and stowed away in the back of a transit van, making its way southbound. The idea of leaving Wolverhampton made me want to document my favourite bits. The matchbox pinhole worked well until, being a woman and all, I played around with it and promptly broke it. I need to stop fiddling. Luckily matchboxes are seventeen pence and I have enough black electrical tape to last a lifetime. So, Wolverhampton. Described by blandness, patterns, line. Dusky colours, freestanding walls that have been waiting to be demolished for at least two years, my favourite ever typography in sign form on a hotel that in my twenty years I have never seen anyone go in or out of. I think that's being demolished too. Walls with barbed wire that look like they belong in East Berlin and signs that incite the possibility of apocalypse any day now. Come to think of it, my cycling always gets a bit uneasy at this point.
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