Why take a taxi when you can get lost in sunny Harlow?

Obsessed with perfect paths and tucked away tracks, Will Gore explains why he steers clear of cabs as an article of faith

(Getty/iStock)

Taxis have their place: for mercy dashes to hospitals; to ensure that you miss no more than five minutes of your child’s school play; as a means to avoiding a drenching, I suppose.

But they should be a last resort, to be called on only when in dire straits – sometimes not even then.

When I’m on my own, I avoid cabs more or less as a matter of principle. Yes, it has led me into some unwise entanglements, but by using my own two feet to get from A to B I have not only saved a hefty sum of money over the years, I’ve also seen into unlikely corners.

Harlow, you might think, is not a place whose corners reward a great deal of exploring. Built as a new town in the aftermath of the Second World War – and subject to considerable development (and redevelopment) in the years since then – it is the kind of place you recognise from motorway exit signs you’ve never followed.

A child was weeping, perhaps unimpressed by the large, black and white sow which snuffled behind a fence. I caught her father’s eye (the child’s father that is, not the pig’s) 

As it happens, I’ve been there a few times, always in connection with the journalism course run by Harlow College, which has a rich history of instructing top hacks. On Friday, I was due to speak there at a conference organised by the National Council for the Training of Journalists, and arrived at Harlow Town station with time to spare before my allotted slot on the stage.

No need for a taxi to take me the kilometre or so to the college then. No need either to follow the walking route shown on Google, which would have had me trudging into town by the side of the A1019.

Instead, I turned left, past the Toby Carvery and into the sun-bathed park, which is not only nicely landscaped – with winding paths and gentle undulations – but contains a “Pets’ Corner”, where sheep and llamas hang out with chickens and pigs.

A child was weeping, perhaps unimpressed by the large, black and white sow which snuffled behind a fence. I caught her father’s eye (the child’s father that is, not the pig’s) and raised an eyebrow in what I hoped was sympathetic consolation.

Harlow was built as one of Britain’s postwar new towns

I had been this way on a previous visit but as I headed in the direction of the college I saw a path that I’d not noticed before, leading into a copse. I judged it might take me to the back of the college site, where I assumed I would be able to find an alternative entrance.

As it happens, I was wrong, and within five minutes I had ended up in a new housing development.

Still, this is where Google Maps comes into its own: I soon got back on track and arrived in good time. And in any case, when getting lost poses no possible danger, the process is positively beneficial.

After all, on a glorious Friday morning in the west of Essex, how could it not be better to walk through a park, say hello to a goat and head blindly into a wood than to tread a desultory pavement by an A road – or even worse, to experience only the stultifying interior of a taxi?