We are trained to want. To need. And yet what we desire the most, is in fact not what we need. Why do we need the latest gadget, to fill our homes with these treasures? Symbols of achievement that leave us wanting more. Full of empty promises, lies of success. A never ceasing and unending pursuit of hollow goals.
Yet I do not know, what are the things I need. Experiences of life, to find meaning beyond consumption. There is something more I seek. To define ones self by more than the career. To be a human and to exist is no longer an acceptable goal. As if somehow, not aspiring to hollow dreams, is a sign of weakness. To not play by the rules, to not dislike thy self because of this. To search beyond the false blanket of contentment. To not realise too late, that all life has become, is the pursuit of possessions.
In light of this I must continue my goal; to explore this life and to know myself.
Friday, 16 January 2015
Tuesday, 16 December 2014
The tale of the day I bought a van.
It's here. My van. My new home, eventually. It's a Ford Transit. The long wheel base, with the high roof. In white-van-man white. And a few special features, but we will discuss that later.
Funny, I'd been calling it a 'he' and as I sit here to write, I instinctively want to call it a 'she'. Any way, I bought it last week, but I've not told my family about it yet. I don't particularly want to hear their complaints. Besides, my parents aren't talking to me.
On the day I bought the van, I had woken up and decided that was the day I was going to buy a van. I'd been procrastinating, as ever. That day I went to see 6 vans. They have been nicknamed thus; blue van, crash van, screwdriver van, floating lock van, fake service van and special feature van.
I woke up early to view the blue van, it was about 45 minutes from where I was and I needed to be there at 10am. It was a light-blue, ex water-board van. Lovely colour, looked outwardly decent. Inside however was rather odd, as there were additional panels fitted to the dash for flashy lights and a 10,000 CD multi-changer [slight exaggeration] There were giant speakers in the back, more weird wires and strange built in structures, covered in a horrendous carpet. Next.
I met crash van that afternoon in Walthamstow. I went through the back of a 'Caribbean Restaurant'. The van was there. Outwardly decent. However it was trapped in, with cars blocking on all sides. He called a man, he moved his car. Whilst he was trying to get the van out, I could finally see it properly. The rear doors did not shut properly, neither did the side door. Also noticed black smoke. Then whilst struggling to get it out, he hits a parked car. The situation was more awkward that you can imagine. So I'm standing there, whilst they're arguing about the car. Giant black van man pretending he didn't do it, and VW Golf owning Asian-rude-boy getting 'upset'. I don't want a test drive any more, not only due to the new dent. After receiving a 'look' from giant black van man, I went on the test drive [down two roads as he had no insurance or tax] said no thanks and got the hell out of there.
Screwdriver van was in Chingford. We had to call the dealer, as he was next door in the pub. Good start. This was the most expensive van on the list, by £1000. He gave us the key and said, it's over there, take it for a drive if you want. After pausing in shock we went over there. That is the difference between Chingford and Bethnal Green. It was scratched to shit. Both of the chairs looked like they had been attacked by a starving rabbit. The central locking didn't work. I pressed every button combination possible, but for the love of toast, the drivers door just would not open. The side door had been jimmied. Twice. Went to open the bonnet, which you need the key for. There was no keyhole. So we went back across the road, told him about the central locking and the bonnet. He denied any issues with the locking, and in regards to the bonnet, his mate turned round and stated 'oh yeah, that's the one that needs a screwdriver'.
Floating lock van, was somewhere in Dagenham. The man wasn't in so we went to find the van anyway. He lied on the advert about the size of the van, as if seeing a smaller on would convince me to change my mind. As you may know, some vans have big sticking out locks on them. Not a problem, extra security. Except that this lock was at the top. As in two inches from the roof. Shortest viewing ever.
Fake service van, also in Dagenham. We arrive and the van isn't there. It is 'parked at my uncles'. So we wait. Ten minutes later the van arrives. He tells me all about it, what he's done blah blah blah. Have a test drive, seems good, brakes need checking and stalled three times, going around the block. A new record. Looked at the paperwork. Even though I know I didn't want it, I like to practise what to look for. And it soon became apparent to me that things didn't match up. Firstly for seven years, the same person, with the same pen serviced the van. Then I noticed, he had only owned the van for six months, but it was his 'uncle' that had serviced the van. Who apparently owned it before him. Which is funny, because Asian people aren't usually called Michael White, who incidentally lived in Norfolk, two years ago. He seemed genuinely shocked that things didn't match up. That's what happens when you listen to uncle.
And that leaves us with special feature van, who previously lived in Barking. The man who owned it ran a wrestling company, and had to take out the passengers seat to fit the ring in. Not an issue as I wanted to get a single chair anyway. The special feature is on the passenger side wheel arch. Someone, who clearly never learnt how to do anything properly, 'repaired' it using filler, and apparently, a spoon. By this time it was dark, and it appeared that that panel could be removed [it can't]. All of the doors locked, closed cleanly, and the rear and side are fitted with security slam-locks. I went for a test drive and it sounded good. I looked around as best I could using a torch, and saw what I believed to be an oil leak. I called someone I knew, that broke up cars, and picked him up so he could have a look. He said it was alright. I bought the van. For £200 less than asking price. I was happy with my bartering skills. I have since spent that £200 correcting things that I did not notice on the day. But that is for another time.
I sat in the car, and took out insurance using my tablet, as it was totally uninsured. I asked my 'friend' to drive that car to mine, whilst I drive the van. It was a fifteen minute journey. What could go wrong. A lot it would seem. He broke the clutch. Killed it. Dead. He calls me. "Your car is outside Costcutter". Now I'm 10 minutes from 'home', and I don't know where bloody Costcutter is. So I turn around the giant van, that I've barely got used to driving forward, and try to find the car. It was 5 minutes away. Why not ring me sooner? Thankfully I was swift about getting there, because I found the car ABANDONED half way into the road and UNLOCKED. With all my things in the back, including this very laptop I am using today. I couldn't believe it either, I mean how can someone do that? So after going into an almighty panic, looking through the car to make sure anything hasn't been stolen, I draw my attention to the van, which I had hastily dumped on the side of the road. It needed to move I hadn't found the keys for the car yet, so I had to ask CC man to watch it whist I parked. Thankfully, the ex's boss had made a mistake, he was still home and he came to the scene of the crime. By then I'd found the keys. They were on the inside of the rear tyre. He had time to hide the keys, but not enough time to put the hazard lights on and lock the damn car. I go across the road and beg the bar staff to let me stash the car in their car-park for the night, and after hearing the story, they obliged. The ex arrived, and with the help of a pissed woman steering, we pushed the car up the mini-hill to the parking spot.
Emotional, shattered from my van buying escapades, we move on. Four hundred yards from home I saw blue flashing lights and pulled over to let them pass, only to realised I've been pulled over. Really. As if I needed anything else besides a cup of tea. The van had no insurance according to their system. I had no license on me. They asked if I was the owner. I said yes, for an hour and a half. Any proof, yes new keepers supplement. And the picture on my phone of the insurance website, displaying my policy number and thanking me for choosing their company. The bid me farewell. Sometimes I love my brain for being so sensible.
Funny, I'd been calling it a 'he' and as I sit here to write, I instinctively want to call it a 'she'. Any way, I bought it last week, but I've not told my family about it yet. I don't particularly want to hear their complaints. Besides, my parents aren't talking to me.
On the day I bought the van, I had woken up and decided that was the day I was going to buy a van. I'd been procrastinating, as ever. That day I went to see 6 vans. They have been nicknamed thus; blue van, crash van, screwdriver van, floating lock van, fake service van and special feature van.
I woke up early to view the blue van, it was about 45 minutes from where I was and I needed to be there at 10am. It was a light-blue, ex water-board van. Lovely colour, looked outwardly decent. Inside however was rather odd, as there were additional panels fitted to the dash for flashy lights and a 10,000 CD multi-changer [slight exaggeration] There were giant speakers in the back, more weird wires and strange built in structures, covered in a horrendous carpet. Next.
I met crash van that afternoon in Walthamstow. I went through the back of a 'Caribbean Restaurant'. The van was there. Outwardly decent. However it was trapped in, with cars blocking on all sides. He called a man, he moved his car. Whilst he was trying to get the van out, I could finally see it properly. The rear doors did not shut properly, neither did the side door. Also noticed black smoke. Then whilst struggling to get it out, he hits a parked car. The situation was more awkward that you can imagine. So I'm standing there, whilst they're arguing about the car. Giant black van man pretending he didn't do it, and VW Golf owning Asian-rude-boy getting 'upset'. I don't want a test drive any more, not only due to the new dent. After receiving a 'look' from giant black van man, I went on the test drive [down two roads as he had no insurance or tax] said no thanks and got the hell out of there.
Screwdriver van was in Chingford. We had to call the dealer, as he was next door in the pub. Good start. This was the most expensive van on the list, by £1000. He gave us the key and said, it's over there, take it for a drive if you want. After pausing in shock we went over there. That is the difference between Chingford and Bethnal Green. It was scratched to shit. Both of the chairs looked like they had been attacked by a starving rabbit. The central locking didn't work. I pressed every button combination possible, but for the love of toast, the drivers door just would not open. The side door had been jimmied. Twice. Went to open the bonnet, which you need the key for. There was no keyhole. So we went back across the road, told him about the central locking and the bonnet. He denied any issues with the locking, and in regards to the bonnet, his mate turned round and stated 'oh yeah, that's the one that needs a screwdriver'.
Floating lock van, was somewhere in Dagenham. The man wasn't in so we went to find the van anyway. He lied on the advert about the size of the van, as if seeing a smaller on would convince me to change my mind. As you may know, some vans have big sticking out locks on them. Not a problem, extra security. Except that this lock was at the top. As in two inches from the roof. Shortest viewing ever.
Fake service van, also in Dagenham. We arrive and the van isn't there. It is 'parked at my uncles'. So we wait. Ten minutes later the van arrives. He tells me all about it, what he's done blah blah blah. Have a test drive, seems good, brakes need checking and stalled three times, going around the block. A new record. Looked at the paperwork. Even though I know I didn't want it, I like to practise what to look for. And it soon became apparent to me that things didn't match up. Firstly for seven years, the same person, with the same pen serviced the van. Then I noticed, he had only owned the van for six months, but it was his 'uncle' that had serviced the van. Who apparently owned it before him. Which is funny, because Asian people aren't usually called Michael White, who incidentally lived in Norfolk, two years ago. He seemed genuinely shocked that things didn't match up. That's what happens when you listen to uncle.
And that leaves us with special feature van, who previously lived in Barking. The man who owned it ran a wrestling company, and had to take out the passengers seat to fit the ring in. Not an issue as I wanted to get a single chair anyway. The special feature is on the passenger side wheel arch. Someone, who clearly never learnt how to do anything properly, 'repaired' it using filler, and apparently, a spoon. By this time it was dark, and it appeared that that panel could be removed [it can't]. All of the doors locked, closed cleanly, and the rear and side are fitted with security slam-locks. I went for a test drive and it sounded good. I looked around as best I could using a torch, and saw what I believed to be an oil leak. I called someone I knew, that broke up cars, and picked him up so he could have a look. He said it was alright. I bought the van. For £200 less than asking price. I was happy with my bartering skills. I have since spent that £200 correcting things that I did not notice on the day. But that is for another time.
I sat in the car, and took out insurance using my tablet, as it was totally uninsured. I asked my 'friend' to drive that car to mine, whilst I drive the van. It was a fifteen minute journey. What could go wrong. A lot it would seem. He broke the clutch. Killed it. Dead. He calls me. "Your car is outside Costcutter". Now I'm 10 minutes from 'home', and I don't know where bloody Costcutter is. So I turn around the giant van, that I've barely got used to driving forward, and try to find the car. It was 5 minutes away. Why not ring me sooner? Thankfully I was swift about getting there, because I found the car ABANDONED half way into the road and UNLOCKED. With all my things in the back, including this very laptop I am using today. I couldn't believe it either, I mean how can someone do that? So after going into an almighty panic, looking through the car to make sure anything hasn't been stolen, I draw my attention to the van, which I had hastily dumped on the side of the road. It needed to move I hadn't found the keys for the car yet, so I had to ask CC man to watch it whist I parked. Thankfully, the ex's boss had made a mistake, he was still home and he came to the scene of the crime. By then I'd found the keys. They were on the inside of the rear tyre. He had time to hide the keys, but not enough time to put the hazard lights on and lock the damn car. I go across the road and beg the bar staff to let me stash the car in their car-park for the night, and after hearing the story, they obliged. The ex arrived, and with the help of a pissed woman steering, we pushed the car up the mini-hill to the parking spot.
Emotional, shattered from my van buying escapades, we move on. Four hundred yards from home I saw blue flashing lights and pulled over to let them pass, only to realised I've been pulled over. Really. As if I needed anything else besides a cup of tea. The van had no insurance according to their system. I had no license on me. They asked if I was the owner. I said yes, for an hour and a half. Any proof, yes new keepers supplement. And the picture on my phone of the insurance website, displaying my policy number and thanking me for choosing their company. The bid me farewell. Sometimes I love my brain for being so sensible.
Monday, 1 December 2014
A new adventure, a spiritual journey. Living in a camper van and not getting a mortgage.
What's the plan?
There never really is a plan. I could describe the basis of the plan, as trying to find meaning. A meaning in this life, that does not evolve around possessions. Being defined as who you are, by what you do. To understand what it is to be human, to experience all that life has to offer. And to find that, I need to look.
I need to be able to move. To explore. To find. To search. To stumble. To somehow reach an awareness, a place in which the world makes sense. A place, not physical, but within myself, where I am comfortable. Where I feel at one with myself, and my desires. Not to be oppressed by what I should be doing.
Many people talk of the "should". I should settle down. I should get a mortgage. I should prescribe to the rules that society dictates to me. Well fuck society. Why should I spend my entire life saving and working towards the end goal, that ultimately leaves me with four walls, a roof and accumulated possessions I own, displayed like trophies of a glorious life. A life which at the end, is often hollow and alone.
I am not a religious person, as you may know. I am not a spiritual person. That is what I tell myself. The logic fights the notion of the spirit; as if somehow they are enemies. Where I got this opinion from, I do not know. But I know [much to the irritation of logic], that is needs to change. I must embrace the connection of the universe, as the [previously thought of as crazy people] do. I often denied it, but I was faced with evidence of this 'energy', I've heard of. I noticed it when I hugged people. Sometimes I'd feel this warm, and frankly irritating feeling. But something was happening, and I wasn't hungry. OK, so that's not the entire basis as to why I want to 'connect with nature', but it would take far to long to type. And besides, most of it is just a feeling. I feel that I'm supposed to be doing something. Something is calling me. It would be a lot easier if it just sent a text.
I've decided I'm going to buy a camper van. I have a strong desire to move. I've never liked to be in once place. I've realised I'm a nomad. For years I believed I was wrong. That I wasn't supposed to move so many times. I'm 30 years old and I've moved more than 20 times, 30 plus if you include 'popping back' to the family home. I've had over 20 jobs, attempted college over 10 times. Nothing ever seemed interesting enough. Or important enough. I'd grow tired of the same routine. Walking down the same road, doing the same tasks at work. Jack of all trades, master of none. Somehow perceived as an insult. For me, the highest compliment. I'd rather be known for nothing and know a multitude of things; than to know one thing so well, there was time for little else. I respect the human who knows everything there is to know about cars; but what else do you know? To have a one all encompassing interest in life, to me is something to hide behind. Or perhaps the simple enjoyment of things. Who am I to say they are not satisfied with their choice.
I'm apprehensive about getting a van. Setting off on a new adventure. To step fully into the unknown. To place myself in the hands of my choices. To open myself up, and allow myself to welcome the opportunities that the universe provides. I could always stay in bed and hide under the duvet. A difficult choice.
There never really is a plan. I could describe the basis of the plan, as trying to find meaning. A meaning in this life, that does not evolve around possessions. Being defined as who you are, by what you do. To understand what it is to be human, to experience all that life has to offer. And to find that, I need to look.
I need to be able to move. To explore. To find. To search. To stumble. To somehow reach an awareness, a place in which the world makes sense. A place, not physical, but within myself, where I am comfortable. Where I feel at one with myself, and my desires. Not to be oppressed by what I should be doing.
Many people talk of the "should". I should settle down. I should get a mortgage. I should prescribe to the rules that society dictates to me. Well fuck society. Why should I spend my entire life saving and working towards the end goal, that ultimately leaves me with four walls, a roof and accumulated possessions I own, displayed like trophies of a glorious life. A life which at the end, is often hollow and alone.
I am not a religious person, as you may know. I am not a spiritual person. That is what I tell myself. The logic fights the notion of the spirit; as if somehow they are enemies. Where I got this opinion from, I do not know. But I know [much to the irritation of logic], that is needs to change. I must embrace the connection of the universe, as the [previously thought of as crazy people] do. I often denied it, but I was faced with evidence of this 'energy', I've heard of. I noticed it when I hugged people. Sometimes I'd feel this warm, and frankly irritating feeling. But something was happening, and I wasn't hungry. OK, so that's not the entire basis as to why I want to 'connect with nature', but it would take far to long to type. And besides, most of it is just a feeling. I feel that I'm supposed to be doing something. Something is calling me. It would be a lot easier if it just sent a text.
I've decided I'm going to buy a camper van. I have a strong desire to move. I've never liked to be in once place. I've realised I'm a nomad. For years I believed I was wrong. That I wasn't supposed to move so many times. I'm 30 years old and I've moved more than 20 times, 30 plus if you include 'popping back' to the family home. I've had over 20 jobs, attempted college over 10 times. Nothing ever seemed interesting enough. Or important enough. I'd grow tired of the same routine. Walking down the same road, doing the same tasks at work. Jack of all trades, master of none. Somehow perceived as an insult. For me, the highest compliment. I'd rather be known for nothing and know a multitude of things; than to know one thing so well, there was time for little else. I respect the human who knows everything there is to know about cars; but what else do you know? To have a one all encompassing interest in life, to me is something to hide behind. Or perhaps the simple enjoyment of things. Who am I to say they are not satisfied with their choice.
I'm apprehensive about getting a van. Setting off on a new adventure. To step fully into the unknown. To place myself in the hands of my choices. To open myself up, and allow myself to welcome the opportunities that the universe provides. I could always stay in bed and hide under the duvet. A difficult choice.
Tuesday, 23 September 2014
To the present.
I'm unhappy; trapped in this concrete jungle.
I'm in London. Again. I was taken in once more by the lure of the flashing lights, the petrol station at the end of the road, and a multitude of 24/7 supermarkets.
It's so unnecessary. I want a simpler life. I crave it. Yet I'm wary of leaving it all behind, and the relative comfort of four walls.
The current plan is to take the car and spend two weeks on the road, and two weeks in London. Not ideal, but business dictates. I'd rather jump, not paddle into a situation. I might lose all my possessions, but at least I can swim.
Eventually I want to be nomadic, perpetually moving from place to place. Exploring both my surroundings and myself. I just hope this is what I'm looking for.
Right now I need to save money. Urgh, the feeling of disgust as I think about it. Such a tiresome thing is money. The car needs fixing, and converting into my home! That's going to be a few hundred boof for sure. Oh well, at least I can practise whilst I wait.
I'm changing my diet in preparation, and I'm decluttering. I aim to only leave one suitcase behind. That's not the even the hard part. That would be cooking outside in the rain.
And one day I'll finish the story.
Friday, 21 March 2014
On route to the forest.
Never trust a sat nav.
90% of the time I wasn't going anywhere in particular, so I didn't
need it. But when I did, he let me down. Good thing I could see the
castle out the dam window.
Drove past some huge
hills that looked like a wedding cake. A square one. Some random
grass Tower of Hanoi pyramids. In the middle of no where. I have no
idea. Someone had too much money.
Got to Edinburgh. Been
there before, so nothing overly exciting. Besides it's a city, and
cities don't excite me. I love the architecture, but then there is
the issue of parking. I had a drive round, might as well. Reminiscent
of Romford, but with more red hair. And more hills, seems every other
road was a hill.
Bored of Edinburgh, I
decided to head further north across the red bridge. As awesome as it
looked, it was closed. The next crossing was over an hour away. I
felt I was at the Brandywine bridge in the Shire.
I was on a mission to
get to my WWOOF host. Can't be bother, ask google. It was only a
'short' drive to his place in the Cairngorms National Park. It was an
incredibly beautiful country drive, but I wasn't in the mood for
stopping. I drove past over ten castles, they were looming in the
distance. Calling me. I even passed Hadrian's Wall without so much as
touching a rock.
In England we have the
'national speed limit' sign, but in Scotland there are 70mph signs.
Saves confusion, but technically, a caravan can go 70mph in Scotland,
but not in England. And these A-roads are deadly.
I've arrived at the
national park, it is full of Scottish Pine trees. OK, so I'm in
Scotland, but pine trees are so boring. I want to see oak, beech,
willow...anything other than this straight, boring pine. For miles.
Time to find Tom, my
host for the next few days. Ha, sounds sinister. It wasn't, but I can
assure you it was weird.
Friday, 22 November 2013
The view on the Moors and foreign land.
Thirty cars queue to turn left at a roundabout. I'm having none of it, so I go into the right hand lane, go around the entire roundabout and then take the left hand exit. And in that time, only two other cars managed to turn left. I always find it amazing that people will just sit there like sheep.
Today I drove at 60 mph for thirteen seconds, with no hands. Unnecessarily insane achievement of the day. Time to find something more sensible to do.
But before that happened, I drove past a WV Polo. Nothing unusual about that. Except that this particular Polo had a yellow wing. And a red bonnet. A green roof and a purple door. Not idea what the boot looked like as I was too busy not crashing my car.
I'm now nearly at Scotland. I passed a road earlier through the Moors, that was so beautiful I had to stop atop the hill to soak in the atmosphere. Even today as I close my eyes, I can still see the scene unfold before me. The solitary road continued down the hill, disappearing with a flick to the left. The hills ahead, varying in colour and size dot the horizon. A large, bushy row of trees shoots of to the right, whilst the sun sparkled through the middle, emphasising the purple heather, which swayed gently in the welcomed breeze.
It's moments like this that make me wish I had both a decent camera, and the ability to use it. I decided to have a nap, so I could spend more time here, waking only when the midday sun had turned the car into an oven.
Continuing my quest north, I finally crossed into Scotland.
And the first thing I see is a giant Walmart, dressed up like Asda. Yes, I know they own Asda, but that is besides the point. Now I really feel like I'm in another country. I decided to investigate. The first 'unusual' thing was the African people. Lots and lots of them. Not Barking and Dagenham levels, but noticeable enough, considering the swathes of white land, I had just travelled through. Shame really. The food was different too. Obviously there was a haggis section, shockingly it was almost as big as the 'ham section' in London. The most awesome thing I observed? The sausage shaped like bread. I can't remember what it's called, but they were everywhere, and what could go wrong with sausage shaped like bread? Apart from the fact that I can't eat bread.
Today I drove at 60 mph for thirteen seconds, with no hands. Unnecessarily insane achievement of the day. Time to find something more sensible to do.
But before that happened, I drove past a WV Polo. Nothing unusual about that. Except that this particular Polo had a yellow wing. And a red bonnet. A green roof and a purple door. Not idea what the boot looked like as I was too busy not crashing my car.
I'm now nearly at Scotland. I passed a road earlier through the Moors, that was so beautiful I had to stop atop the hill to soak in the atmosphere. Even today as I close my eyes, I can still see the scene unfold before me. The solitary road continued down the hill, disappearing with a flick to the left. The hills ahead, varying in colour and size dot the horizon. A large, bushy row of trees shoots of to the right, whilst the sun sparkled through the middle, emphasising the purple heather, which swayed gently in the welcomed breeze.
It's moments like this that make me wish I had both a decent camera, and the ability to use it. I decided to have a nap, so I could spend more time here, waking only when the midday sun had turned the car into an oven.
Continuing my quest north, I finally crossed into Scotland.
And the first thing I see is a giant Walmart, dressed up like Asda. Yes, I know they own Asda, but that is besides the point. Now I really feel like I'm in another country. I decided to investigate. The first 'unusual' thing was the African people. Lots and lots of them. Not Barking and Dagenham levels, but noticeable enough, considering the swathes of white land, I had just travelled through. Shame really. The food was different too. Obviously there was a haggis section, shockingly it was almost as big as the 'ham section' in London. The most awesome thing I observed? The sausage shaped like bread. I can't remember what it's called, but they were everywhere, and what could go wrong with sausage shaped like bread? Apart from the fact that I can't eat bread.
Friday, 15 November 2013
Welcome back to the journey...
Today I went to view Helmsley and Pickering Castle. I had spent the previous night sleeping near the entrance, so was the first visiting human to arrive. The employed human was very friendly and we spent an hour talking about the other local[ish] castles, and she showed me all of her personal guidebooks. Some were rather interesting, and some you'd want a refund for. She then proceeded to tell me all about the bats living in the tower, and how wonderf... before she could even finish her sentence I stopped her right there, thank her for the chat, checked the perimeter and told her it was time to leave. I don't have time for death on wings. Back to the road.
Was in a town [somewhere] and a Co-Op HGV driver started talking to me. Not in a crazy way, he was blocking the road - in a crazy way. Anyhoo, he told me all about his job, which was fascinating. Imagine that, being paid to drive and there is a mini-bed on board! As usual he was totally bemused by my story and so we spend the next 45 minutes fascinated by each others stories. I may have to look into this HGV driving business, according to Jim-Bob, they'll be a lot of work as the government is adding a new legalisation, that all the old people are to scared to apply for in case they fail and lose their license. But, if I was paid to drive, would I hate driving?
I'm now driving through Yorkshire and the views are astounding. There is a steam train which runs through the Moors. I love trains. I don't know if I love trains or castles more. They each have their moments. At one point I used to go train spotting. I went into the station to investigate - mainly because one of the whistle-holders let me sneak in so I could watch the train depart. That was taking a while, so I went to the ticket office to check the price. It was £22. I took a moment to compose myself. I should have anticipated that shock, but I was unprepared. In an attempt to calm down I turned my face away from the price list, only to be confronted by 100g of 'penny sweets' for £2.50. That did not help. I don't overly like steam trains, preferring modern trains, especially in SWT livery. But nevertheless I went to see the departure. It was massive, slow to move, noisy and dirty. Not my idea of fun, and as soon as it moved 2 feet, I left. What? I'd seen it move, what more do I need to see.
After the excitement of the morning, and walking for ages back to the car, I carried on. I really should remember that if I walk down a hill, I need to walk back up it. You'd think after the 199 steps fiasco, I'd remember.
Today was another day where I needed to sleep laying down, so I searched for somewhere to stay. Off of the main road, off the side road, off the residential road, on a dirt track, I found a camp site. It was only £6 a night. That should have been my first clue. Nothing good was ever found for £6. The toilet was decorated with spiders. Not a war of the walls decoration, but it was fast approaching a barracks. It was disgusting. I always wear flip-flips in public places, but I think even nasty people would want protection from these floors. The sink emptied into a pipe, that dropped into a trough under the sink, and if you weren't careful, would splash on your legs. And believe it or not, people paid to house their private caravans on this site. And boy, do these people get excited. There were fences, gazebos, tables, chairs, pavement, decking, lights fake animal decorations, gates, hanging baskets, pot plants, wind-chimes, windmills and pets. And of course, lots of poor looking white people.
After that experience, today is the day I decided to make haste to Scotland. I want to go home. I'm tired, and my back hurts.
Was in a town [somewhere] and a Co-Op HGV driver started talking to me. Not in a crazy way, he was blocking the road - in a crazy way. Anyhoo, he told me all about his job, which was fascinating. Imagine that, being paid to drive and there is a mini-bed on board! As usual he was totally bemused by my story and so we spend the next 45 minutes fascinated by each others stories. I may have to look into this HGV driving business, according to Jim-Bob, they'll be a lot of work as the government is adding a new legalisation, that all the old people are to scared to apply for in case they fail and lose their license. But, if I was paid to drive, would I hate driving?
I'm now driving through Yorkshire and the views are astounding. There is a steam train which runs through the Moors. I love trains. I don't know if I love trains or castles more. They each have their moments. At one point I used to go train spotting. I went into the station to investigate - mainly because one of the whistle-holders let me sneak in so I could watch the train depart. That was taking a while, so I went to the ticket office to check the price. It was £22. I took a moment to compose myself. I should have anticipated that shock, but I was unprepared. In an attempt to calm down I turned my face away from the price list, only to be confronted by 100g of 'penny sweets' for £2.50. That did not help. I don't overly like steam trains, preferring modern trains, especially in SWT livery. But nevertheless I went to see the departure. It was massive, slow to move, noisy and dirty. Not my idea of fun, and as soon as it moved 2 feet, I left. What? I'd seen it move, what more do I need to see.
After the excitement of the morning, and walking for ages back to the car, I carried on. I really should remember that if I walk down a hill, I need to walk back up it. You'd think after the 199 steps fiasco, I'd remember.
Today was another day where I needed to sleep laying down, so I searched for somewhere to stay. Off of the main road, off the side road, off the residential road, on a dirt track, I found a camp site. It was only £6 a night. That should have been my first clue. Nothing good was ever found for £6. The toilet was decorated with spiders. Not a war of the walls decoration, but it was fast approaching a barracks. It was disgusting. I always wear flip-flips in public places, but I think even nasty people would want protection from these floors. The sink emptied into a pipe, that dropped into a trough under the sink, and if you weren't careful, would splash on your legs. And believe it or not, people paid to house their private caravans on this site. And boy, do these people get excited. There were fences, gazebos, tables, chairs, pavement, decking, lights fake animal decorations, gates, hanging baskets, pot plants, wind-chimes, windmills and pets. And of course, lots of poor looking white people.
After that experience, today is the day I decided to make haste to Scotland. I want to go home. I'm tired, and my back hurts.
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