Lomography

The road to Eastfield by Jonathan Polkest

When you drive into West Chinock this is pretty much what you see, Lower Street, it feels quite french, those petrol pumpps were only just about working when I was at Eastall Farm, its a wonder they survived but they dont dish out fuel anymore, the left hand road to Middle Chinook was also the road to Eastfield Farm, I walked it many times with enough Dawlish Weekes Cider on baoard to canote visions of my own sorry makings, I found paperbacks by shamanic pulp fiction Lobsang Rampa, to name but one, My orchard "moored" caravan was the subject of lewd inuendo with the ladies on the Potatoe Picking machine, who got grat mileage out of sparring with each other about my eligability and I suppose my non-eligability to conform with their strangely taboo domestic lives in East Coker. It was a great if slightly self indulgent chapter of my life, I could read for as long into the night for as long as my next days farming performance would allow...