Mythogeography is something to do with what “walkers, artists who use walking in their art, students who are discovering and studying a world of resistant and aesthetic walking, anyone who is troubled by official guides to anywhere, urbanists, geographers, site-specific performers, town planners and un-planners, urban explorers, entrepreneurs and activists who don’t want to drive to the revolution” do.
I seem to be getting myself into something akin to mythogeography, but I’m not sure. At the moment it is a fun and unfettered exploration of my local area, and the possibilities of recording it through walking, observation, writing, photography and local research – a sort of slantwise look at the present combined with local archaeogeographistory (which might be a made-up word). But this lack of sureness and fetteredness both seem to be compatible with what I’ve read of mythogeography so far.
I am remembering my 15-year-old self, who wanted to study Geography A Level alongside double-Maths and Physics instead of the obvious Chemistry combo. The options when published wouldn’t allow for it, or another student’s desire to study English. So I proposed a rejig that would make our options possible and wouldn’t affect anyone else – my first experience of arguing against something by proposing an alternative. Except that wasn’t quite the whole story. The timetable had to be rejigged too – I bet the teachers loved me for that – and I was blamed for an afternoon of triple Maths.
Years later, in a clear-out of official school-related stuff, I found an unbeknownst letter from my Mum to the head, arguing that I should be allowed to do Geography because I might one day want to work at the Met Office… which is where I was indeed working when I found the letter. Except that wasn’t the whole story either, as I didn’t have much interest in the weather bit of the A Level syllabus, and the Met Office prefers to hire mathematicians and physicists rather than geographers.
Maybe I just wanted to be a mythogeographer when I grew up.