It is strange how, given the possibilities of endless exploration of the world, my first tendency is to visit the places I am already integrally tied. I do not explore unpronounceable towns in far off countries; I first head for my own home, my workplace and the routes that my repetitive daily routines demand I travel. I virtually follow the indelible psychic grooves I have already inscribed into the concrete of the city. Why follow these paths in virtual space? Is it possible I desire to find evidence, proof of my own existence? Is it the urge to witness myself from the anterior as others do but is always denied me? Is it the nostalgic urge to invoke past memories, reactivating them through the recollection of place? I am always drawn first to the spaces I currently inhabit, then to the spaces of my past, back to childhood and my teenage haunts. Aitkin Road, Meadow View, the Sung Ying Chinese takeaway and Robin Rix’s shop, down Highthorne road to the train bridge which used to list all the scabs from the strike in thick white paint next to a hangman’s noose, then along Glasshouse Road to what is left of Kinhurst Colliery, over to Swinton Comprehensive School, the Patios Estate, down Goldensmithies Road, a visit to the infamous Denman Road and to the former site of Manvers Main, the pit where my granddad worked as a miner for most of his life and the sight of one of the ignition sparks of the 1984-85 miners strike.