Argleton, Lancs, UK
Argleton in Lancashire, England may be the most enigmatic town on the face of the planet. On the face of it, there’s nothing particularly odd about the place. You’ll easily find Argleton property sites, local memorabilia, and more. At least, you could until a couple of days ago, when the links got deluged.
The thing is, Argleton doesn’t exist.
There is no Argleton, and never has been. The spot Google Maps identifies is just strips of woodland and fields. The nearest proper place is a village called Aughton, as you can clearly see on the map above. One local chap, Mr. Roy, went on a fascinating little tour of the place back in February.
Argleton by and (c) Mr. Roy.
No-one seems to be able to explain what the hell Argleton is doing there. The most common guess is that the town was added into a map database as a false flag location to help detect theft — it’s commonly done, but usually with minor non-existent streets. The fact that it’s an anagram of ‘Not Large’ seems to add weight to this hypothesis. No-one anywhere in the map chain appears to be able to confirm it, however.
Other people suggest that it’s a corruption of Aughton’s name, but Aughton is there too, and waters are being further muddied by a number of American sites that seem to think that Argleton is actually in Pennsylvania.
As psychogeographers and urban shamans will tell you, there’s a power in place names, and particularly in sites which are off the map — or, in this case, off the territory. Could Argleton be some sort of epic ritual, designed to bring something imaginary to life? I’d like to imagine that was behind the mystery.
Still, if you want to get to Argleton yourself, you’d better hurry. The Apocalypse is coming for the unfortunate, sleepy Lancashire un-town. Telesync, the company concerned, have said they’ll remove it from their databases, and presumably have already done so. It’s only a matter of time before Argleton’s strange virtual life falls crashing into the void.
Huge Weaving as Alan Moore's V, complete with Guy Fawkes mask.
Unrelated Note: As it’s November 5th, I was going to do a post about Guy Fawkes Night, Britain’s annual fireworks festival commemorating a chap who tried his best to blow up parliament. We’re supposed to be celebrating the fact he failed, but nowadays, many people seem to be celebrating the fact he tried. But really, other people have done it better, and for me, V for Vendetta says it all:
I do, like many of you, appreciate the comforts of the everyday routine, the security of the familiar, the tranquility of repetition. I enjoy them as much as any bloke. But in the spirit of commemoration – whereby those important events of the past, usually associated with someone’s death or the end of some awful bloody struggle, are celebrated with a nice holiday – I thought we could mark this November the fifth, a day that is sadly no longer remembered, by taking some time out of our daily lives to sit down and have a little chat.There are, of course, those who do not want us to speak. I suspect even now orders are being shouted into telephones and men with guns will soon be on their way. Why? Because while the truncheon may be used in lieu of conversation, words will always retain their power. Words offer the means to meaning and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth. And the truth is, there is something terribly wrong with this country, isn’t there?
Cruelty and injustice…intolerance and oppression. And where once you had the freedom to object, to think and speak as you saw fit, you now have censors and systems of surveillance, coercing your conformity and soliciting your submission. How did this happen? Who’s to blame? Well certainly there are those who are more responsible than others, and they will be held accountable. But again, truth be told…if you’re looking for the guilty, you need only look into a mirror.
GF was the last honest man to enter Parliament :)