Meet you at the pub

Here is England's daily vernacular. Pub signs.

How needed they are, in a culture threaded by spoken words. These creaking, hanging signs are surely one of the oldest lines of communications we have, mapping our territories by image, text, talk. Look at them and look into landscapes of the past.

Imagine this: a trader came to town and asked for the best route to a destination. They were told, turn left by the sign of the Queen's Head, turn right at the sign of the Crown.

The visitor has a navigation. They have an invitation, too - new opportunities for exchange, to profit from the accidents that the pub provides - the sudden meeting with strangers.

But hear that name, see that sign, and the visitor has awareness of how the land lies by its local culture, its social and political loyalties; here are whispers of cautions and permissions, the things to say, the things not to say.

Just take a look at that sign, how it hints at things we cannot see - a sense of how quick the authorities might respond to what goes on here - rogue trading, rough dealings, the way of song, talk, place in society, how we work, these values, all types of currency permitted by people you might find inside.

But it's more. Turn left at the sign - spoken to the incomer, the migrant, it's a way of directing their minds and their feet through a sanctioned route in our territory.

We, who are dwellers of this town, have histories and allegiances to maintain. Turn right at the sign or Turn left at the sign. It's our authority, a legitimacy belonging to here, this town, how we give you a route through, safety or danger, welcome or refusal, here on local terms, at the sign.