She broke the law. Or at least she should have done. Tesco carpark, through-and-through parking space. She didn't drive through. She just stopped, thus guaranteeing she'd have to reverse out. Foolish woman.
Backtrack to the flint mine. Little child is running in the shop with no shoes on. White people, again. EH woman advises he wears shoes, as it's a damn flint mine. It's fine, said the mum. But, said the concerned staff, there's flint everywhere and the stairs down are as rough as sand paper. Oh, he's used to it now, aren't you Edward, said dad. Yes, said Edward, as he almost crashes into a wall. And I wonder who would be suing English Heritage, once little Edward has a 3“ shard of flint embedded into his foot.
Bumper sticker - How's my driving? 0800-fuck-you. It was surprisingly good.
Best kept village of the year 2012 - Tetney. I visited in 2013. I don't know what happened, to the little village of Tetney, but those twelve months weren't kind. Drab concrete, broken garden walls, dying hanging baskets and a general disheveled, mismatched look. Could've featured in Crap Towns.
You know those signs you see, showing you that the road is slippery? Normally for 100-600 yards. I saw one for 8500 yards. How flipping far is that? I can't even guess a parking spot 300 yards away. I asked Google. That's 4.8 miles. Not that I could judge that distance either, but it would've made more sense. Slippery for fucking ages.
I went over a cattle grid and the car stalled. Cattle grids mean cows. I wasn't happy.
I've decided we should be able to volunteer as traffic wardens. I can't remember what idiot brought me to this conclusion (again), but it was enough to make me want a ticket machine.
I've decided to speed things up. I'm getting a little lonely now I'm back on the road alone.
Today I crossed the Humber Bridge - it was very impressive. Created in the 70s, at a cost of £93 million, it was a feat of engineering. For many years it remained the longest suspension bridge ever built, and experiencing that pleasure costs £1.50. The bridge connects the south, to Kingston-upon-Hull, named so in the maps, but all signs direct to Hull. I had to ask someone because I couldn't believe it was the same place. That was probably the most confusing place so far. In London, Kingston-upon-Thames, is known as Kingston, not Thames. The nature park under the bridge, is by far the most fantastic little area I've found. Not many know of it, and yet there is much to look at. In the basin of an old chalk mine, where the roots poke through the cliffs, exposed as they fall to the ground. The park is astoundingly beautiful. Cliffs, ponds, meadows and willow arches, with spaces to sit, places to climb and beautiful, sweeping views.
This place was so special, it inspired me to write the first poem I've written in over 15 years. I was sat in the carpark, and took less than 5 minutes to write.
Inspired by the Humber Bridge
Watching as the sun sets
The trees begin to sway
The birds replaced by bats
Sign the end of the day
The bridge looms ever closer
Guiding thousands home
The country park lies under
A beauty that not all know
The people move so hurriedly
Preoccupied by life
But they miss they greatest pleasure
Of simply being alive
Backtrack to the flint mine. Little child is running in the shop with no shoes on. White people, again. EH woman advises he wears shoes, as it's a damn flint mine. It's fine, said the mum. But, said the concerned staff, there's flint everywhere and the stairs down are as rough as sand paper. Oh, he's used to it now, aren't you Edward, said dad. Yes, said Edward, as he almost crashes into a wall. And I wonder who would be suing English Heritage, once little Edward has a 3“ shard of flint embedded into his foot.
Bumper sticker - How's my driving? 0800-fuck-you. It was surprisingly good.
Best kept village of the year 2012 - Tetney. I visited in 2013. I don't know what happened, to the little village of Tetney, but those twelve months weren't kind. Drab concrete, broken garden walls, dying hanging baskets and a general disheveled, mismatched look. Could've featured in Crap Towns.
You know those signs you see, showing you that the road is slippery? Normally for 100-600 yards. I saw one for 8500 yards. How flipping far is that? I can't even guess a parking spot 300 yards away. I asked Google. That's 4.8 miles. Not that I could judge that distance either, but it would've made more sense. Slippery for fucking ages.
I went over a cattle grid and the car stalled. Cattle grids mean cows. I wasn't happy.
I've decided we should be able to volunteer as traffic wardens. I can't remember what idiot brought me to this conclusion (again), but it was enough to make me want a ticket machine.
I've decided to speed things up. I'm getting a little lonely now I'm back on the road alone.
Today I crossed the Humber Bridge - it was very impressive. Created in the 70s, at a cost of £93 million, it was a feat of engineering. For many years it remained the longest suspension bridge ever built, and experiencing that pleasure costs £1.50. The bridge connects the south, to Kingston-upon-Hull, named so in the maps, but all signs direct to Hull. I had to ask someone because I couldn't believe it was the same place. That was probably the most confusing place so far. In London, Kingston-upon-Thames, is known as Kingston, not Thames. The nature park under the bridge, is by far the most fantastic little area I've found. Not many know of it, and yet there is much to look at. In the basin of an old chalk mine, where the roots poke through the cliffs, exposed as they fall to the ground. The park is astoundingly beautiful. Cliffs, ponds, meadows and willow arches, with spaces to sit, places to climb and beautiful, sweeping views.
This place was so special, it inspired me to write the first poem I've written in over 15 years. I was sat in the carpark, and took less than 5 minutes to write.
Inspired by the Humber Bridge
Watching as the sun sets
The trees begin to sway
The birds replaced by bats
Sign the end of the day
The bridge looms ever closer
Guiding thousands home
The country park lies under
A beauty that not all know
The people move so hurriedly
Preoccupied by life
But they miss they greatest pleasure
Of simply being alive
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