basildon diaries: rain, ruins, and random advice

so here i am, in basildon, typing this while the rain’s doing its best drum solo on the window. 7290689 and 1826481004? yeah, i have no clue either. maybe they’re coordinates for a secret rave. or maybe they’re just the universe’s way of saying “go outside, you fool.” anyway, the weather’s doing that british thing where it’s 10°c but feels like 9.3°c, humidity at 82%, and the clouds look like they’ve been dragged through a washing machine. i just checked and it’s basically sweater-and-umbrella weather right now, hope you like that kind of thing.

“they say basildon’s got more roundabouts than people,” a bloke in the pub told me. “but the people? they’re alright.”

i’m not here for the roundabouts, though. i’m here for the weird little pockets of life that make a place feel lived-in. like the *basildon market, where someone’s selling vintage vinyls next to a guy hawking knock-off perfumes. or the festival leisure park, which is basically a neon-lit fever dream of bowling alleys and cinema screens. if you get bored, southend and brentwood are just a short drive away, though honestly, basildon’s got enough going on if you squint.

i heard that the basildon heritage trail is worth a wander if you’re into old bricks and stories about factories that don’t exist anymore. someone told me that the st martins church has a graveyard that’s basically a who’s who of local legends, but i haven’t verified that yet. could be drunk advice. could be gold.

if you’re here for the long haul, tripadvisor has a list of things to do that’s longer than my attention span. yelp is decent for finding a decent coffee, though “decent” in basildon might mean “doesn’t taste like burnt toast.” and if you’re feeling adventurous, the basildon heritage website* has some cool old photos that make the town look like it’s been through a time warp.

anyway, that’s basildon for now. rain’s still drumming, my socks are damp, and i’m off to find a pub that serves something stronger than tea. maybe i’ll stumble across the meaning of those numbers. or maybe i’ll just eat a pie and call it a day.