wendy house

As she talks I watch the blackness through the gap where her front tooth used to be, the scarcity of eyelashes that host her electric-blue mascara, and the folds of skin that reveal she was once a larger woman than now:

It feels later than it is. I didn’t sleep too well last night, it makes the days seem longer. I called the Samaritans. When you’re awake, alone, at night it helps, they are there to listen and they can’t give advice. They help you think. My husband’s got depression, he can’t cope. It’s affecting everyone, all my family.  He can’t cope so he just goes off and we don’t know if he’s going to turn up or not. We’ve been married for 29 years and I do all the caring for our 15 year old disabled daughter. It’s difficult, I’m the main carer. She doesn’t understand, at 15 you don’t. She wants me to get rid of his stuff. Maybe she should go into residential care. I don’t know. The weekends are the worst because you can’t call anyone. The Doctors won’t tell me anything, I don’t know if he’s going to see his Doctor or not. He’s got an inheritance, I’ve seen his statements, he’s staying in hotels. £40 a night in a hotel. When he calls I can hear a woman talking in the background, but you would hear that in a hotel wouldn’t you? I can’t assume stuff, but being a woman hearing another woman’s voice. Well, it’s difficult. He’s 51, he said he wants to have a life before he dies. When dad died, mum got over it, but it wasn’t the same because she knew he wasn’t coming back. With my husband I just don’t know. When he calls I don’t what mood he’ll be in. He says there’s someone listening in, but it’s difficult to believe anything he says. It’s difficult.

I didn’t want to walk in the rain, so I’m taking the bus, even though it’s not far.

I remember being taken to Leicester Forest East service station as a child. It was a big event, my parents paid for the silver service restaurant meal for the whole family. We sat over the M1 watching the traffic roar passed underneath while being treated to a quality meal.

The M1 was the first British motorway, my parents remember before the UK Motorway system was built. I can’t find a reference to it, but I think this was the first of the modern motorway service stations.

It’s gradually become like all the other service stations, lacking the stunning uniqueness that it had when I was a kiddy.

As a post-graduate student at Loughborough University in the late 80′s we would drive out to Leicester Forest East after a night clubbing. When Loughborough closed, Leicester Forest East was open 24 hours serving burgers and coffee. A place to hang-out and watch the waifs and strays taking a break on their journeys. Fond memories. It’s scheduled to close in 2017 to make space for a wider motorway. The end of an era.

Bros 57 laughed. Thomas rocked.

wendy: wassup bro?

Bros 57: you’ve got cobwebs, in your CAR. Spiders living in your car!  (LOUD LAUGHTER)

wendy: oh yes, and I wind the windows down to attract flies so the spiders don’t starve to death.

I love that Bros 57 is amused, rather than squeemished, by cobwebs in my car. I think they give Thomas a really homey feeling.

I’ll be 50 in November

I’m celebrating by doing something that would have inspired me as a teenager:  Driving the original Route 66 in a convertible. Flights and car booked today. Before the internet existed, I purchased paper versions of original maps. Finally, I’ll get to use them!

Friends will be meeting me before the journey, travelling part of the journey with me, and afterwards celebrating in my old home town of Seattle.  Finding a convertible to rent in Chicago, in late October, is not an easy task. So there’s already been some hard work and I’ve compromised. No Mustang…..

EXCITED levels are vibrating towards amber

Between now and October I’m collecting potential sights and stops on a Pinterest board: http://pinterest.com/thewendyhouse/route-66/

Being wendy, I’ll be visiting train stations, Bus stations, Cemeteries and Court houses along the way.  Please suggest unusual places to visit en-route.

The driver of the car behind me in this traffic jam hadn’t bothered to remove the 4 inches of snow from the roof, bonnet, lights and even most of the windscreen of their car – before driving it.

I had to fight the urge to get out of my car and clean their windscreen for them.  I pity the car behind them – when chunks of snow come flying off the roof, heading like iced snowballs at their windscreen.

It’s all fun and games on the British roads after a freak snow fall.

The Dartmoor ‘blob’ is akin to the Bermuda triangle with extra dollops of fuzzy boundaries.

In the photograph on the right we see how Florence, the SatNav, has decided that Thomas, the car, in not actually on a road and has to turn left, not on a road, in 0.4 miles. Such are the ways of the Dartmoor.

Florence is often suprised that we manage to stay on the Road when we’re out in Devon.

In  the photograph on the left we see how Florence proudly announces that Thomas is actually ‘Driving on Road’.

Excellent!

I get to walk along the Avenue every day. My very own Festive Road. Wearing different hats, I can be different people. Where shall we go today?

1.30pm 13th August

That’s a very neat catheter

Morphine didn’t kill the pain, Morphine meant I no longer cared about the pain.

The paramedic talked about his early career as we waited for the ambulace. He looked all of 25 years old. His early career had been in London. The people weren’t polite, he’d started to ‘burn out’ and get ‘cynical’. Here, on the south coast, people are polite and friendly. As if on cue, an old man from a nearby house offered us tea and biscuits.

1.00pm 13th August

Riding along, following my instructor, I drove too fast into a bend and ended up punching the curb. Not a good move.

A conscientious paramedic was on the scene within 10 minutes followed by 2 police cars because this was a Road Traffic Accident (RTA).

The police apologised for breathalising me. I was being way too sensible to be drunk. Not even a hint of last night’s glass of wine was hanging around.

Instructor: you should call your partner, get ‘em to pick you up from the hospital

wendy: I’m on holiday alone, I don’t have a partner and my family all live on the west coast, so there’s no-one nearby to call. I’ll be able to find a bus to get me out of hospital

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. 

is best left to the shepherds

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:. 

• £350.00 (approx) Fully comp insurance with lots of nice stuff
• £35.00 (approx) annual MOT
• £33.00 (approx) annual road tax
• £350.00 (approx) Service costs for a car with over 80K milage
• £830.53 (exact) Diesel costs

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.