Discomfort Zone

After our studio day on Friday, each pair was designated an area of 'exploration' to generate programmes for mapping the city. So today Lydia and I, (in the rain) started our journey at Victoria station simply observing the type of people passing through the station. People were surprisingly suspicious of us sitting on the floor, despite there being no other seating in the station.

Compared to Piccadilly Station, Victoria is not a hub of consumerism, and the whole place seemed 'down at heel' and forgotten. It seems much more transgressional and hostile than Piccadilly Station, in the sense that you almost don't feel welcome to hang around, yet its derliction and inhospitality gives the place an authenticity unlike Piccadilly Station, which in comparison is generic, insincere and clinical.

Even at lunchtime these seats were stacked on the tables, a warning not to sit down

Victoria Station, one Monday lunchtime

We walked through the Station, which adjoins the MEN Arena; the space here was really odd and DEAD.


Through a system of tunnels, without any sense of orientation, we emerged on the edge of Salford, an area quite fittingly named Strangeways, predominantly occupied by 'all day' car parking, metal security fences and post-war red brick single or two storey, flat-roofed buildings mostly used as warehouses and home improvement stores.


Walking a little further down Dutton Street in the wind and rain we decided to extend our experience of the city beyond our own personal boundaries and try sampling another user's program and so popped into The Dutton Hotel for an afternoon pint with the locals... 


...The pub was empty. It had three rooms, all empty apart from copious chairs (far too many considering the deficiency of punters), and tables topped in faux-brass. The pub landlord, Graham, was definitely wary of us and our unusual interest in the pub and to be fair we did look out of place! Armed with half a pint of Hydes, a camera and an overly observant and inquisitive nature, he probably thought we were inspectors from the Environmental Health Agency.

To the left beyond the metal fence is one of many 'all-day'
car parks on the site where the brewery once stood.

The back room of the Dutton Hotel

After about 15minutes, Trev and Jim came in and settled down for a couple of afternoon pints. We watched Celebrity master chef together on the oversized and incongruous 60" plasma, had a couple of chocolate digestives and discussed how,as Jim eloquently put it, "f**cked" the country was. Jim bought us an extra half each, which was kind, we chatted some more about the dire state of the country and then shook hands with Trev, Jim and Graham and walked out feeling a mixture of intrigue and relief.


The rest of our exploration took us past the prison, past Salford Van hire and into what was most definitely a 'mono-programatic' area; 'Cash and Carry' outlets and stores solely for those dealing in cheap apparel from the East for market stall businesses and 'low-end' independent stores. There was barely anyone about and there was no activity on the street. Driving instructors were evidently making the most of the desolate environment for the 'learner' driver but besides that there was no reason for anyone to be there. A few eerie wastelands had evolved into dumping areas on the corner of blocks.

The place was alien to us and unfriendly. There was no provision to fulfil our basic human needs; no place to grab the familiar packet sandwich or relieve your bladder in a public loo, just instructions not to "obstruct the loading bay" and miles of coiled barbed wire where, in the 'ubiquitous city', you would expect to see inviting signs and warm tempting lights of shop fronts and cafes. 


This place had no place for us.