The Bench by Ian White

I like a good brisk walk, especially down by the canal, and nearly every time, I find myself pausing for a few minutes break to perch on the old bench.

It's nothing special - just a bench, but it holds a strange attraction to me... Two knobbly, off-white precast concrete supports in the shape of a lowercase 'h', spanned by four rough weathered grey wooden planks which form the seat itself and the backrest. All fixed together with eight strong, long, round-headed steel bolts.

It's been there as long as I can remember, just sitting there, calm and placid throughout the years, squat and sturdy, resisting all that man and nature can throw at it - blistering summers, freezing winters, carved and painted by graffiti artists, and even two arson attempts. Yet still it survives.

I'm not the only one who loves it; groups of rambling OAPs seem to prefer the old bench to the newer metal ones further down the uneven, puddle-spattered towpath. Gaily coloured bike-riding families also use the seat as their 'breather' location. Dog walkers pause there too - their four-legged charges claiming it as their own via the application of acrid aromas in the grass round the back. And I'm sure courting couples may well use it as a rendezvous point under a bright starry night sky.

And it's understandable why, once you sit there, gazing out over the near still canal, watching ducks and geese paddle to and fro, awaiting the next group of kids bearing rustling bags of stale bread. Birds twittering in the trees on the other side of the nearby sluice gate, various livestock animals frolicking in the smallholding between here and the sturdy stone bridge down the way, the occasional whiff of smoke from the garden fire up the slope near the old cottage.  The seat is located in the most tranquil place within a mile in either direction.

Even more surprising is the lack of irritating noise from the car-park on the far side of the field which backs onto the towpath. The Yuppie denizens of the old converted mill do nothing to diminish the peaceful nature of this beauty spot.

And so, I finish my tangy cheese and tomato sandwich, swill it down with cool bottled water and repack my rucksack. I stand, brushing off crumbs for the birds and head off home. Behind me I hear a child's voice squeal in delight. "The bench is free!"