On Ilchester High Street we can see the archeological evidence of local culture in action.
For example, a local European has stored their hay supply neatly under the spare tyre in the back of their Citroen.
Continue to West Street? Where is West Street?
Follow the pink line? What do I do when I get to the junction of High Street and Back lane?
Or should I go the other direction, the way Thomas is facing, away from Back lane?
Time for creative driving
Recently, at an undisclosed Sheepwash location there was an unconventional gathering of undisturbed people, and me.
Sheepwash is a strange and quiet village. There are 3 roads, ways to approach Sheepwash. No approaches wider than one car. All of them guarded by cunningly placed, seemingly innocent, wildlife. On my last visit three potentially blind sheep raised the alarm to notify the Sheepwash inhabitants they should hide their ancient secrets from an approaching stranger. This time a herd of flight-recalcitrant pheasants, or silent thunderbirds, ran along the road ahead of Thomas until they finally, reluctantly, decided to fly.
When we arrived Thomas parked in the pub car park and I mentioned that I had never been into the local pub ‘the half moon’. Happy frog and I was clearly suprised by this revelation and asked why. It’s suspiciously cosey in the retreat, once you’ve gone in through that door, its very, very difficult to get out again until you have to leave. Happy frog and I wisely suggested that we try going into the pub BEFORE going into the retreat, to sidestep the known problem. Clever. I like the company of solution oriented people.
Unfortunately we couldn’t work out the entry code that was displayed in the guise of an ‘opening times’ sign. We gave up and were drawn inexorably into the retreat, not to emerge again until it was time to leave Sheepwash.
Once inside the retreat Happy Frog and I supplied the fox stories and some large outdoor sparkers together with a huge open firepalce provided the fire. Fire and fox. Now the cupboard is featuring firefox, the browser. Scarlet dropped in to check that everything that needed to be in hand was indeed being handled. When the smoke cleared it left behind the ashes of conversations about motorbikes, trees, CEOs, PMTs and other significant three letter acronyms.
Top hole
I knocked on about 10 different doors asking if anyone in the house drove a small red Vaxhall Corsa. No-one did, but everyone gave me very helpful advice, telling me which houses I didn’t need to ask and which houses were strong contenders. One house was high on everyone’s list, the house with the jungle growing out of the window. The one hidden behind a sizeable hedge. The one with a sign advertsing a room vacant for a student.
I knocked, I asked. No, no-one in the house drove a red Vauxhall Corsa. I moved on.
The tiny Corsa was parked in a position that effectively blocked 2 driveways, which is illegal. The car was also parked over one foot away from the curb and across a road parking space. These were not signs of a skilled driver, a careful or consderate person. A baby seat was strapped in the back, a St. Georges flag decorated the rear window.
Poor Tanking thomas couldn’t get into the Wendy House drive and I don’t have a street parking permit. One of my neighbours kindly offered to let me use her drive. I didn’t have to find a place miles away, outside of the restricted parking zone and catch a bus home. My favourite Fiesty neighbour started ranting on my behalf about how inconsiderate and ignorant the Corsa owner was. Fiesty neighbour offered me her spare street parking permit.
I photographed the Corsa, its parking permit, and got into Thomas to move him into my neighbours drive. As I started Thomas, a large blond lady come out of the jungle house, briskly walked up to the Corsa and got in. I jumped out of Thomas and ran up to the Corsa before she pulled away, tapped on her window. She said nothing, just nodded as I explained that she had blocked my access, that I couldn’t park on the road and asked her not to park there again. She nodded, pulled away and drove the wrong way up a one way street. Both my neighbours watched.
Fiesty nieghbour: you were much more polite than I would have been
wendy: she knows where I live and could make life really difficult for me if she wanted – I told her all she needed to know and have photographic evidence
Fiesty neighbour: you should report her for driving the wrong way up a one way street
wendy: I think she would guess it was me, wouldn’t you guess it was me, and she might want to take revenge.
Fiesty neighbour: yes I’d guess it was you if it was me, you’re right, but she broke the law and is a pest
wendy: she’ll suffer for it because of who and how she is, I dont need to be the instrument or a focus of her suffering
Grey skies, grey stones. Tourists armed with umbrellas and cameras dance slowly in a large circle around Stonehenge .
Meanwhile I mumble under my breath because I didn’t have the foresight to skirt far enough a round this traffic-laden tourist site on my journey to Devon.
The roads in Devon and Cornwall are a wee bit thin to pass a sheep, or three.
Thomas and I waited while these bleety little chaps found a passing place with sufficient grass to keep them happy.
To celebrate a year of togetherness with Thomas, Excel has reviewed the financial side of our relationship. This is what Excel says:.
This is less than the annual financial cost of commuting to and from work using public transport and on foot. At a non financial level Thomas cuts 2 hours a day from that commute time, an uncomfortable journey, no seats, 2 changes that involve standing outside and jostling to get a place on the next stage of the journey.
Changing my commute will be a core driver for changing my job…
Kevin, a thoughtful minister from the campfire cowboy ministries kindly asked to use a Wendy House photograph of a Beartrap in a post about Beartraps for cowboys to avoid on the trail.
How excellent is that?! Real cowboys!
I said ‘yes of course’, while thinking YEE-HAW!
Modern Cowboys use pick-up trucks and big trailers
wendy: Northumberland Avenue please
Taxi driver: how far up Norvie do you want to go?
wendy: what do you mean by ‘up Norvie’?
Taxi driver: that’s what we call Northumberland Avenue
wendy: near the Angling store, who are ‘we’?
Taxi driver: taxi drivers
Here in the UK we have roads who’s whole purpose is to provide relief, relief Roads.
The pleasingly named Rose Kiln Lane is a Berkshire relief road. Roads that provide relief. A ver pleasing idea.
Having a stressful day at work? Then visit Rose Kiln Lane to find relief.
Judging by this web camera picture very few people have been using Rose Kiln Lane for relief during this cold snap. No yellow snow, cars, or people to be seen.
At the Elephant Hotel, Pangbourne, the guests stranded by the suddent, unexpected, snowfall share stories of how they came to be at this hotel
Formerly Handsome Other Guest (FHOG): (slurred) I wanted to bring the truck out tonight, but my wife wanted to come in the Merc
wendy: (snigger)
FHOG: So we came in the Merc because I always have to do what she says (slurred with a venemous undertone)
FHOG: but she’s admitted she was wrong this time, for the first time in 10 years marriage she’s admitted she was wrong (triumphant venemous overtones with a hint of over-exaggeration. Yuck)
wendy: I drove my little Honda civic automatic up the Cascade moutains in Western Washington to a ski resort during a snow storm. But then, my alternative was a bicycle not a truck
FHOG: this is my mother….
Reminder to self – a black polo-neck jumper, stylish set of spectacles and slim build do not predict good-heartedness. Sometimes I’m such a slow learner.
3pm. Somewhere near Didcot. 21st December
How sensible am I, starting my journey back to Reading?
Unbeknownst to me, Reading had already come to a standstill
The Reading Chronical had already published the standstill*
6pm. Pangbourne. 21st December
This is where I encountered the full car neige, the tail end of the traffic trying to get into Reading. The traffic standing still, sliding sideways, not yet abandoned. Local radio traffic news talked 50 yards taking 2 hours to cover. Urrrrrgggggggggghhhhhhhhhh……
Across the next hour I called and consulted with multiple friends. The phone network was often too busy to connect my calls. Despite the presense of many car drivers I felt very alone. My calm sensible friends and I agreed that I needed to get off the road quickly and get shelter for the night.
wendy: do you have any spare rooms for the night?
receptionist: stranded?
wendy: yes, well, um, yes
receptionist: we have one room left, would you like a toothbrush with that?
wendy: OH! (signifying relief at getting a room and supportive receptionist) Yes please, thank you, I was turned away from the hotel down the road, a toothbrush! how thoughtful
Handsome Other Guest (HOG): we’re stranded too, I’ve only got a hammer and some ski poles in the boot of my car, maybe we can do a deal over the toothbrush?
wendy: I’ve got a blanket in my car, we could build something like a tent with the poles and hammer. Not sure where the toothbrush comes in
HOG: (Huge smile then turns to receptionist) table for 6 please
receptionist: we’re waiting for the chef to get in before we finalise the menu, we’ll try and feed everyone
HOG: Table for 6? Can you put me on the waiting list
Clearly the snow car chaos called for some serious parking-up and a pint of Butcombe. My party for one joined a few other party’s for one and we all shared stories of family, cars, hills, walking, the IT industry and other topical faerie tales.
* the exceptional Number 17 bus was still on the move, albeit erratically.
Egyptian road traffic (car, people, horses, cows, goats, carts) work out what to do based on local circumstances rather than any obvious rules. A free market for its users, a self-regulating system
Pedestrians. Cairo traffic and roads were a persistent source of fascination. Pedestrians loiter in groups chatting along the roadside, waiting for minibuses and taxes. The spill out onto dual carriageways, they weave between the traffic as the cross roads
Passengers. Health and safety culture here in Egypt is great fun for people who enjoy not having to follow over-documented common sense for those without it. The odd free-standing cow in the back of a truck was a common site
Prangs. I was only involved in one car accident during my stay. Judging by the dents and general ‘finnish’ of the cars ‘minor’ accidents are fairly common and not worthy of repair. After our accident the drivers stopped, got out, and argued passionately with arms waving for about 2 minutes then drove away, calm
Peeps. the car horn mainly says ‘don’t move any closer that’s where I am (going)‘. One of my taxi drivers found this particularly useful when he decided to drive the wrong way down what looked like a one way street. The sound of car horns is a constant background noise to the city.
Sometimes the sound morphs to music before sliding back to
cacophony
6am Heathrow Terminal 1 is quiet. A young couple and myself eating breakfast in the ‘Ristorante pizzeria cafe bar’. I choose the vegetarian breakfast omelette, testing the viability of a possible new years resolution, it tastes good
My day has already involved an exploding movement-sensitive light as I left the Wendy house. It rained glass upon me. Luckily I had my hood-up against the rain and didn’t get sprayed with glass. In the Reading rail-air bus terminal I met an elderly Australian gent. He looked at my fake Australian zebra skin hat with no comment while he bemoaned the rain outside and having to visit Britain (Wales) to see his terminally ill mother.
No queues at checkin or security clearance. SWEET
The customs officer said ‘Cairo is too far north for that hat’ We laughed
I didn’t know which way to turn.
Why I love England #11: leafy roadways
Driving down many of the roads in rural England is like driving through a tunnel, the trees on either side meet above you. On sunny days dappled light dances on the road. Beautiful
I love her. Tears streaming down John’s face. I know. Liz reassures him
I didn’t love any of the others. As one of ‘the others’ Liz understands, laugh’s, lowers and softens her tone I know.
Where is she? Liz knows that Maria is skinny-dipping with her new lover, John’s friend, on a beach 5 miles west of the camp site. She can look after herself, where-ever she is, she’ll be alright.
John takes the torch, scrambles out of Maria’s tent and starts stumbling from tent to tent, peering in, stumbling. He’s been drinking. Liz curses the lads for leaving John with the holiday whisky stash.
Where is she? Liz parries ‘It doesn’t matter. Where-ever she is, it’s none of our business. John, ITS OVER, she’s left you, she doesn’t want to see you. Let her go’ John doesn’t appear to hear. He makes his way to his aging MG midget and climbs in. Liz runs to the car and jumps into the passenger seat.
John, you’re in no state to drive, DONT DRIVE. The car lurches over the field’s uneven ground, Liz wishes she was old enough to drive Calm down, where are you going? As he shifts to second gear he says ‘the pub’. Liz tries again Can we walk? John is determined You can walk if you want. The pub is only 3 miles away, the roads are deserted, they could make it. The lad’s are in the pub, support, distraction and warmth. They swerve down the dry-stone-wall lined winding roads.
John seemed to need to move his relationship loss of control and emotional pain to something physical.
A wall mangled the Midget
Love crashed
My London raised Reading friend encountered this innovative use of traffic cones to prevent traffic from disturbing a Swans nest, or possibly to prevent the Swans from colliding with nearby traffic.
Either way, hoorah for the portable bollard, the traffic cone!
My fembot footwear provides aesthetical and sizical proportion to the tarmac cracks outside the wendy house. The current fall-overness-potential alert level is orange with a hint of cerise.
This weekend I was hanging around at Bay #1.
While failing to photograph the talented skateborders I noticed that the outstanding experience that is Redmond park and ride bay #1 has evolved! Bicycles now have a dry, windless, environment with a lock and key on the door. I wonder how you book your bicycle to stay in this bicycle hotel?
sunset in Yellowstone park:
Imagine it’s 10pm at night. You’re driving through, no street lights, almost no traffic. The sensible tourists left before sunset. The gas tank is running dangerously low, the winding roads make judging distance from the map more a wild guess than an approximate calculation. If we run-out AAA could always send someone with a large jug of gas, if we can get cell-phone reception to call them. We may be sleeping in the truck if we don’t get to a gas station soon. We’re in a tight spot. Conversation stops.
Our headlights revealed a car stopped in the road ahead. We pull up. One by one 5 Buffalo climb from the steep incline onto the flat road. In silent awe we forget that we might be sleeping in the truck as these lighfooted giants gracefully cross the road ahead.
Soon after the Buffalo crossing we found a motel. The morning revealed a gas station within 100 yards of the gas-starved truck.
being overtaken by a house on I90 in Pennsylvania. We were the snails pace with most of the home in back of the pick-up truck. But this truck had the house, the whole house and nothing but the house. You can see the house creeping up behind us in the wing-mirror.
Deference due
In South Dakota we saw REAL COWBOYS. Not people merely masquerading in cowboy boots, hats, jeans and western-cut shirts. These boys had just unloaded their horse-carrying trailer and were mounting-up ready to round-up some nearby cattle.
In the ferocity of female-pheromone-fast-production and general dribbling I completely forgot about the camera as World Traveller excitedly announced
“real cowboys, there, look, I’ll slow up” (she was driving)
Every other pick-up truck from Montana to Wyoming hauls a horse-trailer. Modern cowboys haul their horses cross-country before using them to “off road” HA! horses, the orgininal “off roaders” who needs a 4×4 when you’ve got a 6-pack of horses in your trailer!
duct tape can stop a wing mirror from squeaking you into an insane frenzy of pie consuming road rage
OK, I admit it. I’ve taken lots of naughty scenic photographs that have been upstaged by multiple profesional photographers before me. Darn. But no-one. Yeah! No-one has caught me in my hat with flat Eric as well as my co-pilot (world traveller) did with this outstanding picture. Don’t you just wish you were with us?…
Hellllloooooo!
Truck stops have the BEST internet connections! This is Lonnie’s seat poking out from under the bonnet of the Truck. I recommend Lonnie when you’re in a tight spot on a hard shoulder. Don’t let those loose pants fool you. This man can spark a plug, de-clog a filter and replace a fuel system on a truck whose parts went out of production 20 years ago. I stand amazed. Actually I kind of wobble-amazed while drinking “Wollersheim Winery” ‘Prairie red’ in a truck-stop with great internet access…
this is not a case of ‘flash’ red-eye. These are traffic lights at dusk in a North Carolina spring after a rainstorm that caused traffic havoc. Havoc included police cars with very pretty lights, ambulances and collections of crumpled cars on the edge of the road.
Am I on the ‘right’ side of the road?
are more common in the US than the UK. The carriageways are broader. The cars are broader. The broads are broader. It is a bit disconcerting in the outside lane when both directions are moving at the speed limit.
(*US = median)
This may have been taken balancing a camera on a steering wheel driving across the impressive 4.1 mile Astoria-Megler bridge.
More impressive photographs and details about: Astoria-Megler Bridge
There is a slightly different perspective on what constitutes a 2-way street in the UK. This is an examples where its perfectly clear that drivers will have to negotatie the direction of the street on a car-by-car basis…
When parking on these street’s many car-owners typically flip their wing-mirrors against their car to avoid loosing them through collisions when a car passes by.
The leafy lane leads to my parent’s home, where I’m currently convalescing…
Wendy Wecovering-Well
