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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.

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.


Sunday 13 October 2013

Bats, hands and stairs.

I'd had enough of tramping it, so decided I should camp for the night.

After I left the beautiful view, one which the owner didn't appreciate, I continued through the Yorkshire Moors. Finally, at 7pm, I stumbled on a campsite. It was £10 for the night. I could handle that. Yes, I had a mini-breakdown, but he didn't need to know that.

After picking a good location, I setup my tent. I did a good job. I had to, I was representing every black person on the planet. Unless of course there was some other reason everyone was staring at me. Maybe they'd never seen such an awesome tent before? I took the opportunity to shower and wash my dishes. The only charger available was in the shower block. Just leave it there whilst you're showering, said the owner. I tried very hard to not laugh in his face. You can take the Londoner out of London, but we'll never trust the countryside. A woman offered to charge Nexy in her 'pod cabin'. Slightly better. I managed 2 hours, before I couldn't handle the stress any more. Minding my own business, on the way back to my tent, I was attacked by a bat. OK, so technically (I've been assured), the bat wasn't trying to kill me. Yes, I was mildly screaming, and yes, everyone was looking. In my defence, it flew round me THREE times. It's not the bats you have to worry about, shouted the neighbouring human, it's the deers and foxes. He pointed to the forest. Great. My damn tent was a mere 20ft from the woodline. Note to self, trees are not fun in the night time.

I had my first experience of midges. Tiny little flies, even smaller than fruit flies. The major difference to our, beloved, fruit flies, is that they bite. Yes, that's right. Tiny flying bastards from hell. I got bitten twice. Apparently they're attracted to dark clothing. Midges, the goth nemesis.

After surviving the night, I continued my northward quest. Today I discovered Whitby. Very nice town, overlooked by the ruins of Whitby Abbey. Ruins is hardly the word to describe it. The scale, the magnificence, the sheer determination. It's awe inspiring. I walk around these places and feel a sense of connection. I'm an atheist, yet cannot help but feel their devotion. Imagine how much they had to believe in God to sacrifice so much for him. Speaking of the sky fairy, I went into the adjoining church. One of the few, if not the only church, to still have boxed in pews. Each box, had two rows of pews [benches for the uninformed]. Each had varying levels of opulence. Outside each door was a sign, dictating who was to sit there. Most had names - Smith, Edwards etc. Those to the left were marked strangers. And at the back, with bare wooden pews was the free box. For those too poor go to church in style. Oh how I love the Roman Catholics. It was in the church, that I found out what Whitby was also famous for. The 199 stairs. Leaving the church, I stood at the top and looked down onto the town below. It was beautiful, separated by a river flowing horizontally, a large metal bridge to the left, and the alluring view of the winding streets ahead. Mesmerised by the view, I descended the stairs and delved into the depths of the tourist trap. Quaint, period shops, around a twisted cobbled alley. It was crammed full of gifts, both tacky and tasteful. Scores of jewellers, specialising in local jet. Jet is a black stone, which almost seemed to sparkle when polished. They were extremely expensive. Shockingly expensive. For that price it should be gold, expensive.

I moved on in search of a snack. Mmmmm, a sweet shop. The longest laces I've ever seen, fizzy, plain and all those in between. Green ones, blue ones, rainbow ones! So many laces. I was in sweetie heaven, and I was only looking in the window. I walked in. He was giving a customer change. He proceeded to serve the next customer. That one, she asked. He picked it up. Two of them and three of them. He picked them up too. He put them into a bag. She handed him £5 and he gave her £4 change. Next customer. Mmmmm, I stepped back and gestured for the next person to take my place. I couldn't eat them. Have you figured it out yet? If not, let me enlighten you. He was using neither gloves, nor tongs. This big, sweaty beast of a man was using his bare hands to pick up the sweets, handle money and in between wiping them on the back of his trousers. I went to the shop next door and bought a Snickers.

I explored some more and watched the swing bridge open. Two large boats went through. I searched for saveloy and chips. Found fried everything else, but no saveloys. They had red sausages. I asked what they were. The counter woman didn't know. She asked the cook. He didn't know. Turns out, no one in the whole place knew what they were. I'll just have chips then please. Chips eaten and diet coke drunk, I decided it was time to go home. Home being Oz. And that was the moment I remembered the stairs. One hundred and ninety-nine bastarding stairs. I began. By the time I reached 80ish stairs I'd given up counting. Now, it was time to concentrate on survival. There were periodic benches, welcoming the lazy and infirm. I...can...do...this. Encouragement. I will make it. At this point, I was struggling towards the next bench. I sat down just as two pensioners walked past. Dammit. I had to get up. I finally reached the car, and spent the following 5 minutes, astonished I'd made it to the car.

Saturday 21 September 2013

Camping and the Yorkshire Moors

I drove for 12 miles without finding any fuel. These are distances, that as a Londoner, we can not comprehend. Went to the Hornsea Mere. A mere, is a northern word for lake, or glorified pond. Oddly, there was a sign saying - no fish and chips. Would it offend the fish in the mere, to see their dead brothers in batter? I highly doubt it.

Saw a sign for Skipsea castle. Excited as ever. It was an unmanned castle, nothing unusual about that. Opened the gate. Hill to my left, expanse to my right, with the English Heritage guide board. Aim for board. Pass hill. Reach board. Look behind hill, see cow. Assess chances of outrunning cow to gate. Seemed positive. Ran for my life.

Went somewhere looking for a camp site. I say somewhere, as eventually they all blend into one green blur. I asked in a chavtastic caravan site if there was somewhere to camp. No. The security guard however, did enjoy explaining to me how the company ripped everyone off, and suggested I check at 'Bridge Farm'. After a slight detour [read lost], I found the farm. The owner didn't have a campsite anymore. But upon realising I was alone and destined to sleep in the car, he let me camp in his garden. It was my first night camping since leaving London. Oh how the sleeping bag slides. We spent time moaning about the city - how much it smells, the noise, the dust and how stupid its inhabitants are. I couldn't disagree.

We saw a hedgehog in the garden, I've not seen one of those in years. Was bigger than I remembered. I touched it too, screamed, and got laughed at, but I touched it. The farmer, told me that cows are inquisitive animals, and if you look at them, they'll look back. I still believe they're trying to kill me using brain waves. Combine harvesters are massive and their tyres are over 5ft tall. I felt like Alice in farmerland. Last random farm fact, cows sell for £1000, but the farmer makes £100 profit. What a waste of time, with that profit margin, no wonder they're all closing down.

Scarborough Castle - the chav at the desk was exceptionally rude, and didn't even offer me an audio guide. Worthy of complaint, but couldn't be bothered. Later that day I was tailgated for 3 miles by an old white lady in a minicab. I know, so many strange aspects to that statement.

Driving through the North Yorkshire moors. Astonishing. Undescribably beautiful. And yet full of flying bastards from hell. I'd stop the car, and within seconds, it was swarmed by flies - so much so, it sounded like rain. I've never seen so many files. I couldn't get out the car. Such beautiful things, and trees and forest parks. But you can't. As soon as I stopped, they descended, hundreds of them. So sad. Should've bought some Raid.

I drove out of a forest track, which I'm shocked they let cars drive through, and I stumbled into a hamlet [small gathering of human dwellings]. Holy shit, I nearly crashed the car. Seriously. I'd found the single most beautiful view I'd ever seen [at the time, Scotland is awesome]. Through a gap between trees, the lush green valley dipped down, and then rose up in the distance, fields separated by hedges and stone, creating alternating lines from left to right. The odd smattering of trees and sheep, just emphasising that this was real, and not a postcard.

Finally after experiencing the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, I went bird watching. I saw more rats than birds. And also learnt that squirrels, although larger, are scared of them too.

Sunday 1 September 2013

Peer Pressure!

Well I've been ordered by two friends to get my ass in gear, and write a new post. So, here it is.

I've been so busy since I've been back in London. I've started working part-time at the bar I originally volunteered in. It's not as awesome now. Mainly my own personal issues with expectations and taking orders. There are some stories to tell, but for now, I'll stick to the journey.

I went back to the Humber Bridge to take another look at the heritage park. Once again, I spoke to the woman in the information unit. I stayed for two hours, talking about my adventures and the bridge. She let me charge my phone and even made me a cup of tea. Her husband appeared - "Look Mike, this is the woman I told you about - the one driving around alone!" Well blow me down, I was like a celebrity. He was more fascinated than she was. Their son however, couldn't give a shit, he was 3, and incredibly busy destroying flyers.

After I left her office, I went back into the park. I'm so glad I did, now I had the time to really look around. It's almost magical, there is a lively quietness, a connectedness to nature and a feeling of mutual respect. One of the rare places I'd visit again.

Had to wash Oz as he looked like shit again. Hanging your washing inside is one thing, looking like a tramp-mobile is another. It was £2.60. What a bargain.

The first view of Hull is council tower blocks. Oh what joy. A nice reminder, that cities are still crap, even in the country. My illusion is swiftly shattering. You can tell all you need to know of an area, from the Asda customers. What we learnt from that experience, is to stay in your car, and keep driving. The area was run down and dry. Brown concrete buildings everywhere, unkempt verges and fencing. The entire place was reminiscent of an industrial estate. The defining feature is that it smells so bad, it makes Dagenham smell like a Glade plug-in.

As I was driving I saw a church steeple. It instantly struck me that I hadn't seen one in miles. Perhaps not since leaving London. The South and North have mainly square towers, whilst East Anglia has its rarer, circular counterpart. What was flat, was once again pointy. It looked odd and out of place, but after driving past 3 more, it seemed normal again.

I went to the Spurn Heritage Coast. It's a random sticking out thing near Hull - or Ull as it's known by the locals. Apparently we East Londers say it perfectly. They should change the name to Spurn Death Trap. First you pay £3 to park, but you must drive down a 'road' first. Holy shower gel, that was insane. Once you get going, the grass is long. Savannah long. Lions could hide in that shit, long. I walked along the path. Let me emphasise that path, is loosely defined as an area where someone has once walked, and the 4ft grass is merely 2ft. And then to discuss the nature. There were warning signs to not touch the blah-blah-blah caterpillar as it's poisonous. You don't need to tell London people not to touch a caterpillar - why the hell would anyone do that anyway? There were bees, flies, butterflies and all manner of flying beast present. And species of flowers, so tall they should be classed a trees.

I walked past railway lines that went off the cliff edge, abandoned military huts and a old lighthouse. The whole area stays the same shape, but moves left a few meters every year. Across the 'path' and eventually onto the beach. The amount of litter was shocking. It looked like a market at the end of the day. I walked a good mile around it and was tired. I stopped and asked two humans how to get to the carpark. Oh, one smiled, just walk up there and follow the path. So I did. Fool. What was I thinking? I'd already experienced 'the path'. At least I had the option to choose where I wanted to go. This, was a one direction path. And no, not the singing idiots. After nearly killing myself, I decide to scrap that idea and keep walking along the beach. After a total of 3 hours walking, I was back in the car, driving down the 'road'.

I went back to the man in the parking office. I asked him for my 'London Achievement Award'. He didn't know what I was talking about. Well, I explained, after surviving THAT, Londoners should get a prize. He laughed, but not before taking a moment to figure out if I was insane.

Wednesday 21 August 2013

Getting there...

Beverly near Hull. Such a beautiful town. The church of St. Margarets is the most beautiful building I've ever seen. Nothing compares. Inside there is a rabbit statue, which was the inspiration for Alice in Wonderland. This church was so amazing, I was seriously contemplating attending service. Which was at 8am! With Jesus people. There were arches, 15thC pews, stained glass everything, magnificent paintings, and the ceiling. Oh my life, the ceiling is remarkable. I'm certainly going back.

After I, sadly, left, I drove past two traditional gypsy caravans. They were pulled up on the side of the road, with the occupants sitting on camping chairs, around a fire. That's one way of doing it.

Continued my factory tour. Quorn and 7 Seas make the list.

Stupid place names - Skidby and Swanland. Heard from a local that it was called Swineland [because of pig farms], but they changed it. Sounds worse, swans are evil.

Saw signs for a hospital with a hyperbaric unit, but no A&E. Priorities.

And finally, the woman who was having a breakdown [prancing and mildly screaming], because her dog ate dog shit. Oh my God, oh my God, oh how could you? No! No! Idiot.

Tuesday 13 August 2013

Still Behind...

I've been back in London for almost a week now, and from your view, I'm not even in Scotland yet. Feeling pressurised to finish the blog. Although no one is harassing me, I don't like expectations.

Being back here is making me miserable. But I'm pulling through. For reasons you'll eventually know, I've not eaten artificial sugar in over 2 weeks. I don't think I haven't eaten sweets or chocolate that long, since I was physically able to eat them.

Sugar was my constant energy source. When I crashed, I ate more sugar. But now, I'm finding my energy elsewhere, and I'm cooking. Me. With a fire. And I've used the chopping board more this week, than I have in the last year. And that is not an exaggeration. I'm working up to the notion of doing some exercise. I want to do exercise, but I don't want to die. Combined with this 1 million times better diet, I could lose over a stone. It will be harder because of my PCOS, but not impossible. As well as being a problem with laziness, it's a problem with confidence.

Wednesday 7 August 2013

Inspired

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

Thursday 1 August 2013

Skegness and the Asshole

Went to Boston. Just as embarrassing as California. We should be ashamed. They stole our place names, and made them better than we could ever imagine.
I've been driving through 'The Fens'. That basically translates to, dry-ass boring flat part. There was a sign for a hill and I got excited, essentially it was a glorified hump. It was the fastest I've driven since being on the road. Look left, flat field. Look right, flat field. Drive 5 miles and repeat. Not all countryside was created equal. God must have been distracted that day.

There are some strange place names in England. I drove past Old Leake, Ingoldmellis and Hagworthingham. I don't know who made this shit up, but I want what he was smoking.

I pulled into a forest carpark to cook some food. Made pasta and mackrell. No pineapple this time. A stoat ran past. Feeling all National Geographic and shit. As I was admiring the location, a family pulled up. Man, wife, two kids. He was emotionally and verbally abusing his wife. He sent a son to find his lighter; he didn't find it. You're so stupid, I bet you've fucking moved it, shouted the asshole. I was very upset on her behalf, and the children. When it was further away, I walked over to her, with a map, pretending to be lost. I told her what I needed to say, "You're a wonderful person, and you deserve better. Look after yourself." I know, she said sadly. And with that I left the area. As much as I wanted to confront the asshole, I knew I couldn't, as once I'd left, he'd take it out on her.

Important information; I've now driven 2000 miles :-)

Skegness. Wow. Just wow. I cannot express in words the sheer number of caravans. Why, for the love of all things blue, would these people chose to stay in a metal box. Next to hundreds of other boxes. As soon as I drove in, I encountered a Ford Fiesta with go faster stripes. Then there was a sea of Fiestas and Clios highlighted by the dilapidated walls decorating the seafront. More fish and chip shops than were humanly required; at one point 4 in a row. It was one of the worst places I've seen, and yet it was packed with orange people. There was a car park there with a sign, highlighting 18 parking contraventions, and the associated fees payable. Most were £70. Avoid Skegness at all costs. Most of the British seasides are run down, with mismatched, often garish signage. And the 'resorts' are laughable at best. No wonder people mock us about them.

Differences compared to London. No internet cafes, no halal signs and no £1 a bowl. Wooo! Pick your own strawberries are very common. From a field. On the side of a main road. The human is there till 5pm. But the field doesn't move. Why not pick them for free at 6pm? Another weird thing they do, is sell eggs from little carts at the end of driveways and farm entrances. Sometimes they'd have fruits, veg, jams and pickles too. With a note of the prices and a box to put the money in, with no supervision. The first time I saw one, I stared at it for ages. Imagine that in London. Not only would someone take the eggs, and the money, they'd take the damn cart too.

I'll end with two business names, they obviously chose whilst on drugs. The 'Linga Longa' fish and chip restaurant, and a pub called 'My Fathers Mustache'.

Getting the hang of being a traveller.

Here's something weird. Now frying new potatoes. Seriously, in so many fish and chip shops, there are tacky signs promoting this new, exciting trend. You know what's unexciting? Not being able to get a flipping saveloy. I should mention that they also fry Mars Bars, Double Deckers, Snickers and even Bountys up there. But none of them sold saveloys. One even asked me what that was. I just shook my head and walked out.

I can now recognise Norman architecture, their choice of materials, style of decoration and form. I really have gone castle mad. Also Priory mad. They are so inspiring. A declaration of what man can achieve when he puts his mind to it. And today I went to three historic sites. History-r-us.

I'm now hanging my washing in the car, sporting a new washing line across the rear seats. Two bungee cords and some pegs later, he looks like a moving hostel. But my clothes are dry, and I'm no longer embarrassed. I don't even bother to put my sleeping bag away anymore.

Drove through Kings Lynn and within 10 minuets, 4 screaming police cars went by. Not going to the same place either. Full of chavs. And I left. Happy in the knowledge I'll never return again.

Back to history, with Castle Acre Priory. It was truly magnificent. The sheer scale of the site, the workmanship, the design. That someone envisioned it, is impressive enough, let alone put into practice. Each stone, carved by hand and placed using wooden scaffolding. And then ripped to pieces, by that fat narcissistic pig, Henry VIII. But then if he didn't, I might have been a nun, so good on him. Was listening to the audio guide and it said, to walk down the slope.  The were two. I took the one on the left. Mistake. The further I went, the more I realised something was wrong with this path. The arches were too small for doorways. Turns out I was walking under the 'toilet block' and through a river bed. Which was roughly the same time I realised I was sinking. The joy of walking in 1000 year old piss.

Dan keeps calling me. Over and over again. Obsessive much. Turned even more ghetto, and now I've upgraded from warming soup, to cooking rice on the side of the road. Next thing you know, I'll be making a roast. Went to Swaffham. Very nice place, but ridiculously expensive. I saw a teenager purchase 3, 500ml bottles of Lucazade for £5.07. And he didn't even flinch. Nothing. I was in shock just watching.

Went to Grimes Graves, a Neolithic flint mine. Predating Stonehenge, these people dug 150 mines, some up to 60ft deep. They dug so deep because they wanted the black flint, not the other flint. Fussy or what. Got to go down one mine (as the others were back filled), and the tunnels were tiny. It was insane, how they worked. Was feeling lonely that day, so I stayed talking to the staff for an hour, and had them cracking up, so much so, that I got free oat cakes, which were surprisingly nice.

One thing I appreciate about the countryside are the road names. Yes, most roads aren't even named, but when they do, they do it right. Castle Rd leads to the castle, Beach Rd to the beach, School Ln to the school.

Tuesday 30 July 2013

War of the Walls.

So I took Reg up on his offer, and went to stay on his drive. Of course before bedtime, I was allowed in the house. I should have expected the lack of cleanliness,  but I was unprepared. Never, in my life, have I seen a house so dirty. There were leaves all over the kitchen floor, the carpet was unidentifiable, there were slugs living in the kitchen and cobwebs. Oh my sweet tuna, the cobwebs. It looked like something out of the Adams family. That aside [for now] the best part was going to see his babies. No, not the rodents, which probably lived there too, but his plants. Hidden away, down secret passages and hidden doors. Shocked was not the word. That's one way to pay for your retirement. He doesn't care, as they'll only slap him on the wrist if he gets caught. Which he might do, because his house smells very inviting. It was a smokers paradise. Then, he showed me the bathroom. And the bath that was still full, of the most grey, grey water you've ever seen. He keeps the water to flush the toilet with. Fair enough, but I don't know what went into that bath, because I never saw him change his clothes in three days, let alone wash. The first night he offered me dinner. He was eating noodles. Phew, built in wheat excuse. I'm so glad I wasn't allowed to stay inside, because I'd have died.

Morning arrived and I was offered some tea. So I went to was the dishes [and clean the kitchen]. There was no hot water. I asked him to turn it on, and he moaned about 'London people wasting money heating water JUST to wash up'. What do you do? I foolishly asked. I just put it down for the dog and then rinse it off. Rinse. Not wash. Rinse. Feeling thirsty, and a little sick, we went to the boat yard, blah blah blah and then back to his house. He offered me dinner. Damn. It was chicken and rice. I'll spare you the highly questionable preparation methods used. I got out of it. Or so I thought. He ranted at me, pissed off that I'd eat Dan's food but not his. Um, that's because Dan would rather cut his hand off than eat from a dog washed plate - as would I. He didn't understand what our problem was. Our problem. Not his, ours.

I couldn't look at them anymore, so I decided to do something about the cobwebs. Armed with a snooker cue and a wet sock, I went in. Words cannot express how many there were. Every room was disgusting, but the passageway ceiling was covered. Every corner, even straight walls. I had to rinse the sock over 15 times. Yes, I was wearing gloves. It was time to tackle the back of the passage door. This cobweb, no exaggeration was stretching 2ft to the left and right and then 3ft down, plus it went back 2ft across the ceiling. Massive. This was the arachnid headquarters. I moved in quickly, flanking the army. Swoop and swish. Into the bathroom to dunk them into the grey abyss. I approached quietly as it was time to attach the central hub. And that's when I saw him, the leader! He was huge and making a run for it. I attacked, but he deflected, darting back into a bunker. But I had my sock and I was determined to put an end to this war. Whack, he's on the move again, but this time I was prepared, and he went down. I decided to leave the other 10+ spiders in there, mainly because something had to eat all those flies.

On the 16th I finally left the boat yard [yes I'm very far behind]. I went back to the church for a shower and it felt good! I don't need to explain why I didn't shower at Regs'. Also washed my hair and my clothes. And had two cups of tea. If I wasn't an atheist, I'd have joined that church. He even gave me more free food. And remembered my [fake] name. Had a ghetto lunch in a Tesco carpark. Mackerel and pineapple in a can. No, not together. They were in separate cans. But I did use the same fork. I know. Hard times. After less than 5mins I'm rushing like a lunatic to the toilet. I literally had to run into Tesco. Wont be eating that combo again. For dinner I warmed some soup in a forest carpark. At first it felt weird, breaking out the stove like a homeless dude, but rags, I was hungry. Decided to clean the car ashtray, and obliterate it at the same time. Nice.

Went to California, yes, we have one, and no, its not worth visiting. Most of the time I drove around feeling sorry for the poor folk living in caravans, but none more than these. Imagine being 10 and your mum saying 'Hey, we're going to California'. You don't understand how depressing it was. But there were orange folk nevertheless. Best part was the 'maze', open all year round. Except at this time of the year, it's 2ft tall and you can see the end. Idiots.

The woodland I had soup in looked awesome, but it was too late to investigate, so I went back the next day. It's called 'Pretty Corner Woods'. Aptly named. Walked into it and saw a sign of what nature to look out for on your walk. The Adder. Right. Back to the car for giant pronged stick. I was walking through that bad boy like a freaking ninja. I still stayed for an hour. It was so peaceful and quiet. After leaving there I went to Beaconsthorpe and then Bingham castle. I saw people relaxing on the grass, felt annoyed, and now I need a picnic blanket to join in.

Last note for today - parking charges. Holy tuna. They wanted £4 to park at the beach. In a field. And you know what? The dammed thing was full. Stupid people.

Friday 26 July 2013

Attack of the burger.

After our summer fete extravaganza, I popped back to the yard to see Reg. He too was unimpressed, and repeated his speech, about people not deserving to be alive. According to him, no one has complained, and besides, just fuck them and not leave. He invited me to his 'drum'. Haven't heard that one for ages! I'm allowed to sleep in the driveway, as apparently the dog gets upset with visitors sleeping inside. Considering I'm not 'allowed' on the yard, it's for the best. Aaaaand his dog has fleas. Serious fleas. And the damned dog loves jumping up. Do you know how hard it is to get a giant dog off of you, when the owner won't allow you to just shove it away. If he'd trained him in the first place, this wouldn't be an issue. Damn mutt climbs on everything. Before you moan, I like dogs, I love them even, but it's a dog. They should only get on the sofa with permission. And certainly not when they're infested.

I've been warned. People on the yard think I'm a whore. Charming. This is because I go onto peoples boats, to have a look around. At which point does looking at boats, translate to jumping on dicks? Repeat of the same stories, blah blah blah.

Went to smoke in the field. On the other side of the bridge were the cows. I really don't like the way they look at me. They were on the same field, but surrounded by a stream - cows apparently don't cross water. Dan assured me that waving a stick at a cow will make it go away. Seems tribal. I'd have preferred a shotgun, but apparently those aren't allowed. We were there on a bench, as far away as possible, when I spotted a cow looking shifty from a distance. Dan, I said, that cow will cross the bridge. No it won't, he said. I wasn't listening as I walked, swiftly, back to safety. Less than ONE minute later the cow ran, not walked, ran across the bridge. I'm the fucking cow whisperer now. In the distance there were three brave [read stupid] humans walking across the field. The cow was running straight towards them. The two women started to run, but the man stood there, arms folded pretending to be a gangsta. The cow kept running. He stood there. At this point I'm having a breakdown from the other side. Run you fool, run! And boy, did he run. I've never seen a cow run like that, said Dan calmly. I'm flipping sweating. I told you they were beasts from hell. 10 minutes after that, we were round the corner, when the three [clearly insane] people came into view, having walked back through the enemy lines. The two women were clearly distressed and the man was being macho about it. Dan was just pissing himself laughing, and I was expressing my concern for their life. I really wanted to slap that man. Arrogant twat.

Learnt a new skill from Dan. How to throw knives at trees [or humans]. It was freaking awesome, and a little scary. When you hit it wrong, it'll bounce back a good 4ft. I probably only got it right 5 in 100 times. Pissing himself laughing again, he informed me that he would feel totally safe, if I were throwing knives at him. Good odds. Then it was my turn to laugh, when he shouted to the dog - Trix, get out of there, you're in the death zone. She was 10ft away. Although I only hit the tree 1/3 of the time, so it's understandable.

When we got back to the boat, the lunatic decided it'd be fun to play the knife finger game. I decided to use a pen. Then he handed me another knife [as I'd broken the other one murdering trees] and plonked his had on the table in front of me. I declined, and practised on myself first. I got quite fast! Then I played with his hand, and he still has 10 fingers. Result.

Wednesday 24 July 2013

The Summer Fete and hay fever from hell

Went up the river for an afternoon trip. I wasn't going to stay as Dan prefers to cruise for a bit and park up at midday for the night. I want to cruise all day and stop at 9pm. Apparently the 'best part' is relaxing on the moorings. Umm, no, the best part is driving the boat.

When we arrived my car was scratched [turns out it was a dog]. I walked over to Dan, who was at the time talking to James. 'My cars been scratched'. A woman said, very abruptly 'move it then'. Well nice to meet you too. Never even seen her before. I walked off. It's not my yard, let's not cause additional drama. Dan stopped to talk to her. Well to ask what her problem is. Apparently, I'm making a fool out of him and I'm not welcome here. Dan enlightened her, that no one makes a fool out of him and there is nothing sexual going on [mini-mouth-sick]. Considering how ugly she was [inside and out] her problem would be jealously. Rumours had indeed been spread. I found out another had approached Reg telling him the 'scandal'. ”That woman, spent the night on Dan's boat”. So, said Reg, she's been on my boat too. Oh, said the gossiping ex police man, and he sheepishly walked off. Reg, with his glorious way with words, stated that some people don't deserve to be on this planet, they should mind their own fucking business, and find something else to do with their pathetic lives. People are so two-faced. Why can't a person just be friendly? Why must their be something untoward happening? Stupid bitches.

After that, I decided to leave the boat yard, and Dan was not happy at all. Feeling somewhat guilty, we decided the best thing to do would be to meet down there river where I could park, and he could moor. Dan, having to wait for the tide, was due to arrive at 10am, I was already there by 6am. I saw a man walking the dog and thought he was crazy. That was until a group of school children walked past at 6:23am [I checked]. Imagine telling London children on a school trip that they had to wake up at 6:30, let alone be washed, dressed and walking down a river. That afternoon, I introduced him to the world of Nexy - Google Nexus 10. He was fascinated, and so impressed at the ease of use, he's vowed to get one [much to his stepsons annoyance - stupid Apple groupie]. We looked at Google sky map, for over an hour that afternoon, i explained what stars were [suns], and the colours, sizes, distances. Solar system vs galaxy etc. He was again fascinated. It was decided that later we would look at the stars. What a fantastic sight. Cassiopeia was there, as was of course Ursa Major. I love the moment when someone first sees it. They are so shocked. I can't believe in all those years, he'd never noticed it. I also managed to locate Bootes. He's flipping huge! No wonder I kept missing him.

The next day there was a country fete on! How quaint. Face painting, stocks, catch a duck and Dan's favourite - smash-a-plate. He spent £5 throwing balls at crockery. There were two Biltons plates there and I was having such a breakdown at them getting smashed, he bought them for me. Those babies were hand painted in the 70s, what's wrong with those people? Smash Tesco plates dammit, not vintage pottery. For those of you who don't know why I'm having a moment, it's because I ran a vintage pottery store.

We were watching children dance - badly. Dan has a problem if his back isn't against a wall, so when I wouldn't sit next to him [under a tree] he walked off in a huff and disappeared for an hour. PMT? I was having the worst hay fever day I've had in the last 10 years. Why would i sit under a fucking tree. I couldn't breathe, had tissue stuck my nose, plus smelly stuff, and I was blatantly overdosed on anti-h. In the end, I put a wet towel over my face and waited to die. [I'd just like to add that as I sit here tapping this up, a pigeon has just kindly shit all over my car.]

He's a little irritating. Keeps repeating himself all the time. 7 times he asks me for tea. If I have a back ache he'll say 5 times that I can sleep in the car. Which i know. He's told me a zillion times we're friends and he enjoys my company and that I'm a tonic. He's like an insecure woman. If I leave for more than an hour, he's calling me. And a farmer laughed at me because as he opened the gate where the cows were, I ran like the wind, even though there were no cows in the field.

Dan banged his head on the boat door, and then proceeded to punch the door frame. Twice. And then he spoke to my mum. Old people. Can't complain too much - he taught me how to throw knives into a tree - or an enemy's back...

Tuesday 23 July 2013

Touching

I'm back from the boat trip, and I'm bored as I can't paint the boat without Paul. I decide to walk around and see if there are any new people to talk with. On the way round, I met with Reg, Mick and Ben. Ben, to those who aren't 'friends' with him, know him as 'the man who is dying'. He had 6 months to live, 9 months ago. He's trying to fix his boat so he can go out on her again. I hope he makes it.

Someone 'new' was there today, talking to Mick about his boat, in the adjoining workshop. I say hello, hi and ask to see his boat. It's a tiny 2-berth, little more than a water-car. I ask about it, few questions about the painting he's doing, engine, age and other assorted boat words. We talk more, he's married. I ask about his wife. He tells me of her work [away from home], how long they've been married, where they live etc. He asks me the equivalent questions, I answer, blah blah exploring England. This is 10 -15 mins max. I'm setting a scene here, bare with me. Description. 50ish. 5”7. Balding. Extremely large beer-belly. 3/10 face. Overall scruffy. In a nutshell; short, fat and ugly. Moving on. Conversation as follows. Have I've been to the [only] pub? No, I heard it was crap. They sell beer. I don't and can't drink it, I normally drink vodka. They sell vodka too. I'm sure they do. They sell vodka too. I heard you, are you suggesting you'll buy me one? Yes. Well I like vodka, and boats, so why not? Conversation done. As usual, I'm talking about 1000 things at once. Blah blah blah, he sold his other boat, which was outside, near Paul's. We walked round to look at it. Blah blah boat talk. He then puts his arm over my shoulder. You country people are too touchy, I say, as I remove his paw. Then. Then. He spins me round, pulls me tight against his body and puts his hands, firmly on my bum. I won't repeat what I said next.

Now my questions to you are, at which point did I suggest to this man, that that was acceptable? Am I naive to the way of men? Should I have expected it?

After I'd finished being sick in my mouth, I went round to Dan's for a cup of tea, and a moan. He wanted to kill him. Which is why I didn't tell him who, because he may well have.  Didn't stop him hunting round for clues. Went for a smoke with him, although he couldn't understand why I wouldn't smoke it on the pontoon. Just because you can't smell the difference Dan, doesn't mean others won't, besides, it's inconsiderate to smoke that near other people.

Saw the hugest caterpillar in the world. It was easily 3” long. I picked it up on a leaf and ran down to show Dan. He likes that kind of stuff. No idea what it was, but the idiot touched it anyway. Good thing he didn't die.

We went to the post office/shop and a woman behind us asked if she could pay by card. Cashier said there was a charge, but she could withdraw money free from the post office counter [2 steps away]. We carried on being served and then the woman said 'I can't get any money out'. This special breed of human being, was trying to get money out of a chip and pin machine. The cashier looked her dead in the face and said 'I have to be on the other side to give you the money'. We just laughed in her face. She was blonde, but I'm sure that had nothing to do with it.

My neck was killing me the next morning [perhaps from laughing so hard], and I had to tell Dan 3 times that I didn't want a massage. Better than the 5 times I had to tell him last week, that I wasn't massaging his back. I don't care if it hurts. I'm not ironing out back wrinkles.

Saturday 20 July 2013

Old people get really jealous

Old people get really jealous. At the mere mention of Reg's name, Dan had a breakdown. "If you miss Reg so much, we should just go back now so you can be with him". I miss my Dad too, doesn't mean I want to see him. Gosh.

I held a pigeon. A real life, fell-out-of-a-tree-wing-broken-pigeon. Scarier than holding a chicken, probably because I couldn't picture it in a bucket of KFC. Discovered 'goose grass' when Dan threw it at me. Forget Velcro, goose grass will stick to anything. Took 5 minutes to pick the damn stuff off of me. Saw three species of butterflies - Cabbage White, Tortoise Shell and Common Brown. And cows. Walking burgers from hell.

Dan's nephew called. He's 74. He asked is he's still with the 'dark girl'. That's one way of putting it. I've had this conversation a thousand times in 5 days. Black is an acceptable term. Stop calling me dark or coloured. I'm not black either, but explaining mixed race. Impossible.

More nature, and I'm getting less scared of it too. Saw damselflies, demoiselles and the dreaded dragonflies [still scared of those]. Really calming to watch skiting over the water.

We cruised up the river and I got to drive the boat! It was freaking awesome! I even got to sound the fog horn, even though there was no fog. One annoying thing about being on a boat, you must wave to passing boats, fishermen and people walking on the shore. After 2 hours I asked Dan to make me a hand, attached to a stick, with a lever. Never waved so much in my life. Boats drive on the wrong side of the river to cars. And you must give way to sail boats, even though most are arrogant and won't say thank-you. They tack up the river, zig-zagging like lunatics to travel 5 metres. Watching them duck under and pull the sail round is entertaining, but then it begs the question - why bother?

I'm apparently the best thing since sliced bread. The compliments are flowing faster than the river. And now to discuss swans. Giant white beasts of doom. They approach the boat, waiting for bread. Then they see the dog and they start hissing and 'standing up' in the water. Ummm, piss off. You came up to the boat. The dog was here first. Dan throws water on them and they leave. Horrible, horrible things. Weird that a lake bird doesn't like water. But good to know.

After getting bored of being the skipper [driver], I asked Dan to teach me some knots. I learnt the bowline, fisherman's, climbing, and the slip knot. He kept getting annoyed at me because I kept doing it the wrong way, but the end result was the same, and he couldn't understand it. He's another person, that's commented on my use of my left hand. I don't realise that I use it so often, but apparently I'm slightly ambidextrous. After testing my left hand writing ability, and his inability to even write his name, he was convinced I was a freak.

We arrived back on the boat yard and I hopped off to see Reg. First thing he said to me, was that I've been two timing him with Dan. Jesus merciful tuna. Who knew old men were so insecure. When I was gone people were talking about me helping to paint Paul's boat. Reg told them that I know what I'm doing, and I'm a practical young girl. He told them that he let me wire up the batteries on his boat. The others were shocked. Reg's response. "If she can't attach the black wire to the black wire, and the red wire to the red wire, we should put the bitch down". I love that man. If he wasn't 73 I'd have married him. 


Thursday 18 July 2013

More London joy and the return journey.

My sister took me out to dinner with her friends. Firstly, we had the pleasure of seeing a bunch of Bengali boys crash their go-kart into a wall. Then they invaded the place, as there was some kind of 'prom' happening at their school. Then our conversation was interrupted by exceptionally loud happy birthday music. In this diner you can pay £5 for the 'birthday experience'. Annoying music, 2 balloons, a badge, and a firework-sized-sparkler for your own cake. We were sat in a booth. At first all we could see was the top of the sparkler as the staff carried it. We were not ready for what happened next. Remember, the sparkler is huge. She passed the side of the booth, to reveal the cake. Or more to the point - cupcake. A tiny cupcake, icing squashed to death, with a huge sparkler precariously balancing in the middle. Well that was it, Sibby and I were pissing ourselves laughing, so much so I had to fan myself with the menu and people were looking round. Imagine spending £5 on a glorified cupcake. That child will be traumatised.

Went to Tesco and they were selling 10 sanitary towels for £3. For that kind of money, it better stop the whole damn period. More moaning about London. Rubbish everywhere, too many foreign languages and more 'world food' in Tesco than the entire frozen section. If I want world food, I'll travel. I'm in England and I want 75 different choices for oven chips and overly bland chicken. But thanks for selling ginger beer and Supermalt. London makes me lethargic, miserable and bored. I don't want to do anything and prefer to sit in a room all day. My depression has spoken. Oh, nothing sensible came from the Paddington job. After investing 2 hours talking about it, I received an email. i wnt 2 b caned by a dominat womn. He sounded so articulate on the phone. Tragic.

It's now Thursday and I've not heard from Paul. I'll give him till Sunday, then I'm leaving. Started my new medication Metformin. Official use diabetes, but also useful in the treatment of PCOS. Went straight onto 1500mg per day and for the first two days I felt like shit. Might also have had something to do with the fact I 'accidentally' ate two hot cross buns. Wheat allergy is hard. Sometimes I fail. And I suffer for it.

Sunday arrives, with no return calls, so I head back to the marina alone. I'd arranged with Dan to go on a trip around the broads! That night I slept on his moored boat. Wasn't very comfortable as I had the smaller 'sofa bed' area. At 6 o fucking clock he woke up for coffee. It took all my resolve to not throw my tea in his face as he rambled on. He made me bacon and eggs at 8am, so was once again, my new best friend. After that we left the marina, and for the first time in my adult life, I was on the water, in a boat that wasn't a ferry. I was worried about getting sea sick, so on his advice, constantly reminded myself that I was on a boat, and we're moving. It actually worked!

It wasn't until we were on the river that it was established, that this, 73 year old, grey-haired, pot-bellied, wrinkled human being found me attractive in that way. I had to refrain from being sick in my mouth. And he was married. Perhaps I'm naive, but damn, I wasn't expecting that. Urgh. I informed him, that any woman under 30, with a man over 70 is interested in one thing only. Money. And I'm not interested in your money, and if I was, you don't have nearly enough to make that sacrifice worth while. It took a while [2 days] but he finally decided to see me as his niece. I suggested granddaughter, keep it in perspective. He only then, truly realised he was old. Wisdom, it seems does not appear with age.

Wednesday 17 July 2013

Boats, Tea, Expensive Tea and London.

Met someone new today and went to have a cup of tea on his boat. It's a 27ft, 4 berth cruiser. Also known as a caravan that floats. Reg was jealous, so he came over for tea too. Reg and Dan had seen each other in the yard, but hadn't spoken to each other before. Good start. I've had to explain at least 6 times today, how I keep myself clean. Tesco and a flannel. Enough said. Finally saw some countryside stars. Amazing, there are at least twice as many here and the light pollution is still high. Can't wait to get back to the Scottish mountains. The first time I saw them I nearly crashed the car. They look so close, you'd think you could touch them. Dan and I got on well. We had 5 cups of tea before he let me go. He's 73, a retired builder, who also made money by poaching in his younger days. He's a hard ass and deals with life fist first. Even now. When I first got on the boat, I had a mini-panic about walking on the pontoon and even more so walking on the fingers. To translate - the big floating path is a pontoon and the little small ones sticking out are fingers. Fingers are held up by oil barrels and rope. Also learning the names of even more boat shit. The men are amazed at the - and I quote - ”clever young thing”. Speaking of young, I got asked for ID today when buying tobacco. Thankfully I've transitioned into the age where it's a compliment. Back in the old days, when we bought child paper bus passes at 15 and cigarettes at 16, I'd confuse them by asking for both. Good times.

Went for a drive with Dan to the world's smallest petrol station. 2 pumps. One of which doesn't work. You also need to call to check he is there. That's the most ghetto petrol station ever, and chances are a black person has never even used it before. Oh wait. I'm 'black' here. Damn. Another installment for stupidest business names ever. Moo Zoo. Yes, Moo fucking Zoo. Best part, it's a 'dress agency' which is a second-hand clothes shop for the deluded. That place made me itch. Not because it was dirty, but because the clothes were on different hangers and it wasn't sorted properly. Looked a mess and made the stock look cheap. And believe me, it wasn't cheap.

The day before, I left Paul's milk on Dan's boat. At 8am, Dan thought it'd be a good idea to speak to me through the car door. It's a good thing I'm only 5”2, otherwise I'd have put a hole through the roof. Panic over, I recovered by having yet more tea on Dan's boat. I could get used to this. Met Mick the yard master. Nice, geeky, mid-40s still living at home. Wears character t-shirts and reads sci-fi novels whenever he's not working. He's also disgustingly dirty and drinks from the single most disgusting cup I've ever seen. His explanation - other people won't steal it. He does have a point.

On Monday, it was time for the return journey to London. Paul came with me, as he had some things to get on with in London, and was grateful for the lift. I did nearly kill him though. I wanted to leave at 2pm. We left after 9pm. And then he tried to eat breakfast in the car. Then left to walk the dog and eat his breakfast. Then, when I stopped for fuel, he spent 5 minutes picking out a damn sandwich. He just bought some tobacco, so I rolled a fag and told him that I'm on the verge of fucking killing him. Not that he cared, as he was busy stuffing his un-punched-face. Finally arrived in Romford at 23:47. I checked. Told him to call me on Wednesday to make a plan for the return trip.

Wednesday comes and it's time for my appointment. Mum was having a breakdown, because she had to drive down 'country lanes'. Ha! Those were nothing compared to the madness that goes on 'out there'. She just kissed her teeth and carried on cussing the road for being foolish. We were early, so we went for a tea. Two teas, two flapjacks. £6.50. Luckily the cardiac department was nearby. We were sat by the window chatting away, when suddenly I stopped dead, and look to my right. Mum. Yes? Look. She turned her head and gasped so loud Christ himself heard it. Before our very eyes, in the hospital cafe, a woman had put her 6-month old baby on the floor. Read it again. On the floor. Yes, there were chairs and tables available for the placement of small humans. Mum's face was distorted with shock. I was laughing so hard, I had to face to window. Words cannot express how we felt that day, so I'll repeat myself. White people.

Monday 15 July 2013

Tramping it - part 2

So there I was, snuggled into my sleeping bag, minding my own business. I was writing a previous blog post on Nexy and decided to use the glove box as a makeshift stand, as the crap I bought broke. Boom. I was attacked. By a freaking ninja crane fly [dragonfly to Londoners]. I was trapped in the sleeping bag, as you know, and I was in the passengers seat. So picture this. Me, in a bag franticly trying to rescue my arms, whilst avoiding the 'killer' in the car. When I finally escaped, I'm waving my arms around uselessly, all the while trying not to scream for help. I chucked Nexy on the drivers seat [sorry] and launched a full counter attack. He landed on the the roof and bam! The end.

So apart from that, I've been sleeping better in the car. I've also established that at the rate I'm spending on fuel, I'll have to go back to London in the next few weeks. Its been just as hard, and a little scarier to ask for work than I'd anticipated. According to my brief and highly unscientific calculations, I'm spending 17p per mile on fuel.

Mc. Donalds + small human + chicken nugget + floor + large human giving it back to him = shock, horror and disgust.

Back to the boat and the filler had dried, so sanding was required. I started off with some green sandpaper, found some wood to make a block, and got to work. After 10 minutes of hand sanding I was informed, I could use the mouse sander. Ohhhh. Things that plug in. Buzzzzzzz. Fun, but took bloody ages and my hands were hurting from the vibrations. After that it was time for priming! Heavens alive you've not smelt a paint so strong in your life. By the time I'd painted half the port side, I was feeling faint. But to be fair, it did have a few hazardous triangles on the can. Paul was applying black tar to the hull. Its used as an anti-foul to stop nature attaching itself to the hull.

I've decided that I'm going to own a boat, with the intention of living on it. I had this notion 4 years ago, but was tied to London and the moorings are ,ore expensive than rent. It will be black. Obviously. And I'm going to fly the jolly roger! I've been told by almost everyone that you can't paint a boat black. Mmmmm, if you can paint them white, green, red, blue etc - I'm painting it black. Honestly, you'd thing these old people would know the song. Also there is a weird superstition, that you can't change the name of a boat because its bad luck.

Did you know boats need a MOT. Me neither. They don't call it that, but you know what I mean.

I went to Tesco and was browsing the yellow sticker specials and a man commented that all the old people took them earlier. We then proceeded to have a little chat by the carrots, as no on in London has ever done. Blah blah blah, travelling the country, blah blah, Great Yarmouth Pleasure Beach is crap, why have a monorail. His response. You have to see it from the air, to truly appreciate how shit it really is. I laughed so much people were looking at me. Not that they weren't already looking at me for being the most colourful human in the store.

Tuesday 9 July 2013

Tramping it - part 1

He's a bad influence on me. Today I went into a church to get free food. A church. With bibles on the table and people talking about Jesus. First we had to go to the CAB to get a food bank voucher and then to the church. I made a convincing homeless person and I got some free food too. Don't know whether I should be offended or happy. Walking with a tramp, makes you look like a tramp. He would've got more food if we were 'together', but I wasn't having none of that. Then we went around with a 'gold' ring, which I later learnt he bought from a gypsy man for £7. Three jewellers told him it was fake. Even I knew it was fake looking at it from a distance. But he was optimistic [read stupid]. My 'reward' for driving him to the church, was a can of chicken meatballs. So, in true semi-homeless style, I heated meatballs in a saucepan, chucked in some rice, and in the pissing rain, sat in the car eating from the saucepan with a spoon. No, I didn't have a fork. Important lesson follows. Never eat chicken meatballs from a can. Ever. This may shock you. He ate my left-overs and then he put the saucepan down for the dog. White people.

Reg the mad drummer took me for a day trip so Southwold. The entire journey was spent 'discussing' other peoples driving. And by discussing I mean ripping the shit out of. Was a nice place, and walked for MILES. It was the furthest I've walked since owning a car. But it was a fantastic walk. Along the marina, past the cows [kmt], into a village and across a crabbing bridge. With children and buckets. Catching crabs, lots and lots of crabs. The children mocked me as I squealed over crabs, they proclaimed were tiny. I convinced one of them to let me touch one and once again, I screamed and threw it into the sea. Children find that kind of thing amusing. I don't. We stopped for some chips and was given a ticket. And then we had to wait for 15 minutes in a waiting room. For chips.

I found a breakfast source. Bought some, but Paul lost his and was grumpy for bloody hours looking for it. Didn't find it, but the dog looked happy.

Would write more, but WiFi is scarce, so this'll do.

The Marina

That night, after experiencing the delights of Yarmouth, I went in search of the marina. When I arrived, Paul wasn't there, but there was a human working on a boat, so I approached with caution. Turns out he was a Paul too. That was a little confusing, for him, not me. I knew he wasn't the right Paul. I waited around for an hour and decided I was bored so drove the 18 mile round trip to get some chips from McDonalds. Imagine that. 18 miles to McDonalds. There isn't anything in London you're more than 18 miles from, let alone McDonalds.

When I finally arrived back, he was asleep on the boat! At 9pm. He was tired, but understandably so, as he'd walked 8 miles to get there. Lunatic. We had some 'breakfast' and he was my new best friend. His boat was out of the water. It was my first time on a non-floating boat. It was propped up on oil drums and pieces of wood. Not my idea of health and safety. And it was covered in tarp, so it was dark inside even in the middle of the afternoon. How did I know it was dark in the afternoon? I stayed there of course. The next day was spend caulking the port side. Port is the left hand side of the boat. Starboard is the right. I remember because port and left have 4 letters. Port has a red light and starboard green. I remember that because port is red. Lesson over. Back to caulking. We used the traditional method, which involves mixing equal parts white lead paste with linseed oil paste. And a little dollop of motor grease. Essentially it's like filling a wall. Except you really, really want to make sure it's in all the cracks. It took an age to dry. 2 days in fact. But that'd be skipping ahead.

I met some interesting people. An ex-Navy diver, who talks of nothing except the Navy and his wooden yacht. Granted, it is the nicest boat on the yard. And he knows it. Painstakingly restored by hand, and the love shines through. I'm surprised his Mrs isn't jealous. I'm surprised he has a Mrs. All the men do is complain that women don't like boats. Met an ex-drummer Ray. He's a good laugh.73 going on 18. Absolute nutter. Constantly tapping away on something, and since learning I play the bass guitar, air-bassing every song on the radio. He drives a massive 4-litre land rover, but he runs it on gas, mainly to annoy green people. He's a right git, but in a loveable way.

The old men though I was wise beyond, my years. Partly. Because I was practical and not afraid of getting dirty. My top tip for messy people was that if it takes longer to find the tools, than to put them away, it's time to start cleaning. Surprisingly, two of them cleaned up!

Learnt loads of boat-shit [official term]. A yacht has a sail. A cruiser has an engine. If a boat wants to tip over when you look at it, it's tender. The strange plastic things hanging around boats are called fenders, which stop you smashing the shit out of the boat when you try to moor, which in car terms means parking. You have bilge keels, which are giant boat stabilisers. Handy for large tidal waters. A bilge pump saves your ass when you're taking on water. And of course; port, starboard, stern and bow. I did learn more, but that'd be too boring for you.

That evening I sat in my car, alternating between watching the rabbits and gazing into the universe. A great end to a great day.

Thursday 4 July 2013

Travellers can't rescue dogs and other fun facts

Dog rescue centres are sad places. Also not very helpful for finding work, as none seem to have their own land. This one was in the ass end of nowhere. There were around 30 dogs. Staffs, Bull-everything, Huskys, Terriers and Whippets. Nothing new then. Most were barking like deranged lunatics, others were playing the sad dog card. One didn't even bother to get up, probably already learnt not to bother. Smart dog. If I were allowed one, I'd have taken him. But I couldn't. Dogs need a permanant address, just like their wolf cousins. Bit like adopting children. Pop out as many as you want, but if you want a stray, it'll take years. No wonder people go to the breeders or Gumtree, where you can get a pet in 10 minutes. But you shouldn't buy puppies. There are enough 'old' dogs looking for homes after people decide they're no longer cute enough [or small enough].

Oz had a conversation with a BMW and now he has a new special feature. I've had meetings with three other cars, and all were BMW 1 series. My subconscious is trying to eradicate them. I'm going to need something stronger than an Astra. Oz never comes out on top.

Cant find a plug anywhere. Mc D's, Costa, Asda cafe, Tesco Cafe even libraries! I need to charge Nexy, he's dying on me and I'm too scared to charge him in the car.

I've come to this side of the planet, so I may as well see the Broads. Well, that was the plan until I realised boats cost £20ph to hire. I don't have £20 spare and I'm certainly not going to pay that much to scare the shit out of myself. I think the water is scary. I'm OK with swimming pools, because I can see what's there and 99.9% of the time, it's another human. Who knows what the hell is swimming around in that water. You couldn't see your hand 6 inches under. Not as bad as the Thames; if I fell in there, I'd let myself drown. I'd never be clean again. So opted for sitting on a bench at Outon Broad, watching the rich fuckers play boat.

As I walked past I saw a man sitting there who looked interesting. He had long black hair with a little beard-thing, tattoos and he was wearing paint stained clothes, looked half homeless and had a mongrel. I wanted to talk to him. When I'd finished I walked past him again, but 10 steps past him, I turned back and decided to talk. Well, I asked to 'borrow your lighter', not that I didn't have 2 in my pocket already. We started chatting. He claimed he had a boat in a village 8 miles away. It is out of the water, as he is restoring it. He invited me to the marina later that evening if I didn't have anything better to do. I didn't. But right now it was 3pm and my parking ticket was running out, so I bid him farewell and drove on.

Drove through a town called Gorrelston - the sole redeeming feature was Wilkinsons, which lost its power as it was opposite Farm Foods. Two ridiculous business names; barber called 'Slashers' and a timber merchant called 'Cushions'. Why?

Yarmouth. Notice the absence of 'Great'. Whomever named it Great Yarmouth was delusional. The most hilarious thing I've seen was the 'Pleasure Beach'. The sign was pale, rusty and falling apart. Comparing the Pleasure Beach to Alton Towers, is like comparing your mothers home-cooked roast dinner, to a pot noodle. They have the audacity to run a monorail around the park, through run down coasters and fading serpent slides. Thankfully further down the beach, it started to 'improve' with a sea life centre and model village. You can even have a horse and carriage ride. And massive pirate mini-golf. It's bloody everywhere mini-golf, every beach has one. I never realised we had such an obsession with mini-golf. Drove down the widest, shittiest road ever. This was the tourist route to the beach. There were no lane markings, even though it has the space for 3-4 lanes. Special features include the definitely no entry sign. As opposed to the traditional no entry sign. The road lead to nowhere other than a boat. And that was Yarmouth.

Saturday 29 June 2013

1000 rediscovered pears

After I finished with Snape [kmt], I found Leiton Abbey. It was mainly rubble, but the arches remained. And they were magnificent. In true religious style, they were huge, to make you feel insignificant. But the skill. Why don't they build like that today? Those techniques have passed the test of time. Why change it? Looks much better than most of the nonsense they now.

I drove the 1000th mile. I bought my self a drink to celebrate. Couldn't buy a Sprite because they are now dead to me. 'Rediscover' Sprite they proclaim, now even more refreshing. No. It's not. I don't want to rediscover Sprite. I want old boring Sprite. You know, the kind we've been drinking happily all these years. If you want less sugar, drink Sprite zero, or better yet drink water and fuck off. Yes, I'm swearing, but dammit I take my Sprite seriously. Now it tastes like shit lemonade, and for the extra money it's not worth it. Each time I go into a shop, I have to think about what I want. If I were American, I'd sue them for wasting my time. I bought a Rubicon instead, that didn't have 55p on the can. More stress.

Drove past the Aspall cider brewery. Didn't stop though, I was on a mission to another castle. Framlingham Castle. Only the curtain wall remained as the last owner levelled the rest to build a poor house, where they feed the poor. At least then they named things properly. Don't know why he had to level it, can't poor people eat in a castle keep? Apparently not. Those walls were massive. Go up the staircase and you can walk around top of the wall. I hobbled around [leg vs shingles] and had apparently gone up the wrong staircase. Like funk I was walking back all that way. There were two people looking disappointed by my apparent disregard for the rules, but I limped towards them and simply stated I couldn't make it round again, and as if by magic, they were smiling again.

Village called Debenham is beautiful. Enough said.

Back to chavs. Saw one walking in a Lonsdale tracksuit. Since writing this blog, I realise I call most people chavs, so gave him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to the gym. He got into a pimped out Ford Fiesta with a scorpion sticker on the side. I shall never judge my judgemental side again. What do you call a chav in white tracksuit? The bride. These jokes exist for a reason.

Drove through a town called Brockdish and one called Eye. Who names these places? Eye was rather nice. I really enjoyed Norwich, which surprised me, as I generally dislike cities. Was lonely again, so I called someone from the couch surfing website and met up for a drink. He was very nice and we had a great chat, unfortunately he couldn't offer me anywhere to stay, but he did buy me a vodka. He is training to be a boeing pilot. Explored the city at 5am, which may be part of the reason I liked it. Found a castle, but couldn't find anywhere free to park but it looked impressive from where I was sitting. Saw remains of the old city wall and this strange little island on the river. The island is only accessible by boat, so I was thoroughly entertained watching them sail across the water as easily as we'd cross the road. One...person...painted their house pink. Why would they do that to me? There I was minding my own business, when I nearly lost my balance as it was so offensive.

Was in Mc D Beccles and they were playing some tunes! Alt J - Breezeblocks and Half Moon Run - Full Circle. Best. Mc Donald's. Ever. I was the only one dancing. Some people have no style. And yes, you can dance in Mc Donald's when you're 100 miles from anyone you'll ever see again.

Went to hell [Tesco] to buy some bananas and pears. I like blush, but they they only had conference pears, I thought I may as well get some anyway. 2 bananas = 31p. 2 pears = £1.26. There is no shame calling the assistant over to cancel pears on the grounds of extortion. Could've got 8 bananas for that price! How is it that a banana comes thousands of miles for 15p and a pear from down the road costs 63p? And don't we subsidise those farms too?

Took a free diabetes test in hell and it came back negative. I took that test for my counsellor - so you can stop worrying now!

I'd also like to thank all of you that have sent me messages of support and encouragement. It's nice to know you're all interested. If you can, please leave them as comments so other people can read them and join in the conversation [unless you're correcting my grammar!] And to all those I've not answered, my phone's internet is sporadic and I've not forgotten you x

Ipswich, Mouth, Castle & Snape

Donkey rides. I've not seen those since we were poor, and living in a council flat. Nostalgia, it's not what it used to be. Went to Ipswich. Disappointingly like London and full of Danis. The town centre was so crap I can't even remember it. Good thing I take notes. Saw a full blown chav pulling up in a 60 plate Merc to get a Chinese takeaway. Suspicious. And surprisingly, there were a lot of Chinese people. Could've been 'oriental' but I'd admit to assuming Chinese as there are billions of them.

Went through a railway crossing, this time with no barriers. I literally [and I don't use that term incorrectly] closed my eyes as I drove over. What if the bulb had blown? Note to self, do not live within 10 miles of a crossing, I'd have high blood pressure in a week. In London we have bridges. Nothing wrong with a good bridge. Sturdy, safe and out the way of a 10 ton death machine. At one point there were little side roads crossing the line, and within 200m there were 6 crossings - all with no barriers. Insanity. Crossing train driver off the list, too much stress.

Wind headache update. It's not a wind headache. It's a do some exercise you lazy bitch headache. How do I know this? Obviously, it wasn't windy, and I had a huge headache the same as before. It's now called my walking headache. Much shorter [and less offensive]. Only happens outside though, as I've been on the verge of dying in some of those castles, but all the while I've been OK. Am I now allergic to fresh air? Dear tuna, don't you think I suffer enough with the wheat intolerance?

So, this waking headache was brought on from me walking. To the mouth of the river Deben. Most awesome thing I've seen thus far. Took 20 minutes over those stupid shingles, but I made it. On the left the sea was crashing, rather excitedly, against the shingles. To my right, the water of the river was as quiet as a child with a lollypop. The distance was less than 8 metres. I could've made it to the very tip, but the tide was circling behind me, and I don't do unnecessary swimming. I don't do unnecessary anything, which may explain the headaches. It was truly remarkable. Isolated, secluded, serene. I could've spent hours there, if only it was sand. After that walk my leg was killing me, as each time I took a step, I'd slide 6in down the stupid shingle slope. The next day I was hobbling like a granny, and felt justified using the disabled toilet.

After what seemed like 12 years, I finally made it to Orford. I'd been trying to find somewhere to sleep, but the villages were too small, and mostly with driveways. There was a free car park in the middle of the 'main road' which was massive. Was probably once the village green. I arrived at 10pm, which for me was late, and as it is the last stop on a long road, I'd no choice but to stay there. I went for a short walk to find somewhere to smoke, as that night the loneliness set in. As I sat alone on the bench, I wondered what I'm doing here and what am I going to do with my life. I turned my head to the right and noticed an old post with a fire basket on the top, with '1553' written on it. That's old I thought, and I jumped up, turned round, and behind me was Orford Castle. That's what I was doing there. Exploring the wonderful history of our country, seeing the beauty it has to offer and giving myself the time to experience life fully. Yes, I got all that from a castle. One that wasn't even open yet. I didn't even know there was a castle when I headed down there, I'd been emotionally lost and neglected to check my English Heritage book.

At 5am I moved to the castle car park. I was astounded when I woke up mast 9:22am, and I blame the American tourists. They were in on of the largest car we have. I'm surprised they didn't hire a bus. Sometimes life is just like the movies. I liked them though, they got visitor membership for EH, and they were polite during our visit. Children well behaved, unlike the English and French hordes in Dover. I was so pleased to have found it, as its turned out to be a very interesting little castle. One of the first to utilise the heat from the chimney to warm the rooms around them. Which incidentally, were tiny. We'd call the Kings bedroom a box room. They even had toilet cubicles. Apparently they averaged 5”2 in those days, which explains why I fit perfectly in every door, archway and staircase. It has one spiral staircase going round to the left, as it allows more room for the defenders, coming down to swing a sword. The chapel even had glass windows and there was a bakery on the roof. It cost a then, staggering £1000 to build, 1/10th of the yearly income of the King [can't remember which one and don't really care]. Imagine what you could build for £1k now. You'd probably only manage a glorified shed.

Finally, I went to a town called Snape, for obvious Harry Potter reasons. Nothing. Not even a reference. You'd think they'd have something there as I can't be the only one that drove 10 extra miles to visit. Or am I really that strange? Don't answer that.

Wednesday 26 June 2013

A brief visit to London.

After I had finished with the delights of Dover Castle, it dawned on me that I needed to have a blood test 2 weeks before my appointment. I made a hasty departure back to London, via Folkestone. Waste of petrol that was. Also forgot to mention the audio from Walmer Castle. You 'dial' a number for each room you're in. For one of the rooms, it made a knock-knock sound, a door creaked and the voice said 'Captain, you have a visitor'. Um, no you don't you've been dead hundreds of years. That was the end of my audio experience. I want to hear facts. If I wanted a dramatisation, I'd have gone to the theatre. Mini-rant over. Huge London rant about to begin.

I made good time to Epping, along the motorway. First time I'd driven over 60mph since leaving. Was a long and monotonous drive, misery setting in as the signs for London became more frequent. Thankfully, Epping was a nice breaking in point. I was in the hospital for a grand total of 11 minutes according to the parking ticket. 8 of them was spent getting to and from the car. A two-hour drive well spent. Next time I'll ask if I can post a sample.

Two hugely noticeable things when entering London is the traffic and litter. You can't truly appreciate how disgusting the streets are until you've seen clean ones. And holy tuna traffic was horrendous. It took an hour to get from Epping to Hornchurch. My road rage returned instantly. I saw one red bus and that was it, that wanker in front going 28mph had to die. Then there was the man who let everyone out. And I mean everyone. Turning right, sure I'll stop. Pedestrian wanting to cross in the middle of the road, no problem. Bus pulling out, please, take your time. No rush, don't mind us, the 100 cars behind you trying very hard not to forcibly remove you from your car. And now the elderly. In the countryside, they do alright, the pace of driving is more relaxed, causal with many opportunities to overtake. In London, speed is king and hesitation is not tolerated. I waited behind one old lady who took a whole 5 minutes to pull out of a junction, that an HGV could've left 8 times. Maximum patience required, and thankfully achieved.

Stayed at my parents house. I managed two days before I had to stay at a friends. I wasn't going to let their misery ruin my week. Before I left, my dad's brother called. To most that would be an Uncle. But as he rightly put it 'I don't think I've ever spoken to you before'. No, no you haven't. So dad's brother it is. He never calls, so after ascertaining that no one had died, he proceeded to bore me for the next 10 minutes about his mundane life. I told him that my dad saw their sister last month, to which he replied 'oh, is she still about?' What a beautiful family I have. The love is so strong. Inspirational. I've been told to admit, that I forgot to tell my dad he'd had a triple bypass. I thought the sister comment was funnier and he wasn't dead, some no problem in my book. Spent the next 2 days playing Xbox in Leytonstone. Final Fantasy 13 had my name on it. Speaking of names, who the hell named those characters. And why does a black man have a chick living in his head. It's an afro, not a freaking birds nest.

Received a call a few weeks prior from a man called Shah who wanted to travel with me. We met up for a drink and he seemed nice enough, so made a plan to meet the following day at 2pm. At 1:30 he calls [after I sent 3 texts] to ask if we can go the next day. Needless to say, I left his ass right there and headed on my way.

On Monday morning, I got back into my car and headed for Felixstowe. Was aiming for Essex, but I got side tracked and the sign said 'Welcome to Suffolk'. So there I was. Again, with no radio. Since losing XFM, the radio is dead to me.  Felixstowe wasn't too bad, nice even. Lots of charity shops, but far too many visitors. The best feature was sand. It was nice to have some under my feet as opposed to the harsh shingles of the south. The 'fun' area of the beach was dismal, not somewhere you'd go on holiday unless you collected tokens from the Sun newspaper.

Saw a sign for Master Lord, which sounded awesome. Turned out to be an office suite. Awesome names, need to have a disclaimer. 'Master Lord left, not as awesome as you think'.

This post was written as I sit on another beach. With sand :)

Sandwich, Castles and more Gumtree joy.

There is a town called Sandwich. Not very delicious, but at least it won't make me sick. Beautiful with old quaint streets and Tudor style overhanging buildings. Went to Deal and then Walmer castles. Both built at the same time, in an amazingly short time. Only one year to build a castle. It would take Tower Hamlets one year to build a bus stop. Henry 8th was panicking that the Catholics would attack him, considering he'd just screwed them big time, so he needed new defences. There were originally 3 castles, but the third got eaten by the sea. Bad sea. Deal castle when viewed from the air looks like a Tudor rose, all walls are curved to better deflect attack. There are a ridiculous amount of holes for gun fire. I didn't know they had guns then. My history has gaps in it, and if it wasn't for the castles, I wouldn't care. The tunnels running underneath were the scariest I've walked around so far. In part it was being alone, part narrow, part flooding and part crazed pigeons. I had my torch on the whole time, turning around every few steps like a scared 5 year old. And in some sections I ran. Yes, I ran. Walmer Castle had potential, but alas was destroyed as some high-born idiot decided to live there, and turn a perfectly good castle into some half breed mansion mash-up. Imagine a castle with painted walls and in place of the defensive ditches there were 'gardens'. Pfft. Good thing that was free with my EH membership. Saw the chair that the Duke of Wellington died on, and according to the [irritating] audio guide, they've never changed the fabric since. How special. Only thing worth visiting for is an awesome chest of drawers. Seriously it was awesome. And huge.

Ring ring goes the Gumtree phone. 'Where are you in London?' Not  a good start. 'I want to meet you for coffee'. Foolishly, I asked why. Apparently he'd like to 'get to know me'. I said no, then goodbye and thought that was it. Boom - text message. 'Why u put advrt' Obviously, I decided not to reply. Not subtle enough, as 5 minutes later, ring ring goes the phone. Now, I was peacefully hijacking WiFi in Mc D's, so the cleaner was a little shocked at the quiet woman in the corner suddenly cussing. There were no small humans, so swearing was allowed, and used. Needless to say, he hasn't called again.

Finally made it to Dover! Arrived sometime late in the evening, so parked at the White Cliffs for a few hours to pass the time. Watched the ferries come in and out of the harbour and was offered some watermelon by 4 shisha-smoking-Arabs. I declined, mainly because they cut it on grass and I've no idea where the knife came from. Could've been my new best friends, but they were ugly. I'm not shallow, but my vision was offended. The next morning I approached the castle. And was early. Saw some confused tourists, who couldn't understand that castles have opening times. Peasants must wait! I offered to drive them 10 minutes to the white cliffs, and they were very grateful. My generous act of the day. Felt good too. Back down to the castle and in I went. It was the biggest castle so far, and surprisingly the most disappointing. Most of the inside was 'furnished' and that detracted from the building. 8 million stairs surrounded by hordes of uncontrollable small people, zillions of French tourists and so many cameras flashing, they need an epileptic warning. All I can say from that time is that the furniture was garish and with all the walking I had to do, it should be sponsored by weight watchers. Went down the [disappointing] mediaeval tunnels, and was surprised to see they were made from bricks. The same bricks we use in modern houses. Again, my history is confused. Final note - don't bother.

Saw my first Dani [Muslim] in Dover. Driving a Nissan Micra - the stereotypes follow them everywhere. Those and Volvos must be very good cars, as Bangladeshi people and the Jewish don't like wasting money.

One thing I'll say about the countryside, is that there are a ridiculously large amount of single track roads. That would never work in London, as no arrogant bastard would pull over or reverse for anyone else. Probably lead to a reduction of cars on the road, as every other person would get stabbed after waiting an hour to get past.

Monday 24 June 2013

On The Road Again...

After leaving the fine comforts of Cassa Del James, I drove onwards to Margate to meet Adam from the Couch-surfing website. I was to meet him at a church. Never a good start in my book. He redeemed himself when we established the next port of call was the pub. And no ordinary pub either - a pub which serves free prawns. I was wary, but I went in. To my amazement, there were fresh shell-on prawns, crab-sticks, cockles and 5 other bowls of free goodies. Now as a Londoner, we don't even have free peanuts anymore [not that anyone in their right mind would eat the piss-nuts]. And just to remind myself how far away I was, a man came round selling raffle tickets, for a meat raffle. Yes, you could win meat. In a raffle.

Adam was a Reiki master and a teacher of many alternative therapies. Those who know me, will appreciate the effort I made to listen to him. He proceeded to show me the highlights of Margate, including the numerous bays, each with a designated use. BBQ bay, surfing bay, family bay, all-night-party bay and apparently a nudist bay. Saw a castle that was turned into flats, don't know if I'm jealous or furious about it. Gained access to an old house, also converted into flats - not so annoyed as I got to look inside! The whole building had the warm, delicious smell of an old chest of drawers. Probably because 3/4 of all surfaces were solid oak. And the stairs spiralled up in a rich, red velvet. Yeah, I'm jealous again. We went for a fantastic fish lunch, which was so filling it crossed over to dinner territory. Had more random conversations over lunch, mainly involving the soul. First problem. Not believing in souls. However, I'm told I have a wonderful soul and only 1-3/400 people have a kind soul like mine. A compliment perhaps. As much as I'm skeptical of such things, he did give me much to think about. As well as 10 to pay forward to a Buddhist centre or someone requiring assistance. Took the time to watch the sunset. Was mesmerising, I stood there for over an hour. Stayed at his place, on a sofa bed, because I refused to sleep on the floor because there were mice. Oh, the things I'll do to sleep horizontally. Had to earn my keep by cleaning the bathroom and, in true man house style, I had to send him to the shop for cleaning supplies. Was woken at 6:48am by the world's most inconsiderate bin men. And was grumpy, so stayed up.

Drove past the fake rocks in Ramsgate again. Worth a double mention.

Went to Toby Carvery for breakfast. Unlimited bacon for 3.99. No complaints from me. The conversational fun began. I question everything and I'm the only person out of thousands who didn't agree with him instantly. And he didn't like that. He had a little snap at me. He had a slight arrogance that his theories were correct, and the response was, that I didn't think they were correct because I'm not old enough to understand. Well, you know how that conversation ended.

All in all, my opinion of Margate changed, sill crap although slightly more interesting. Adam gave me a lot to think about [and a therapy CD!] and so I'm heading off to Dover to try and find me a castle.

Nearly forgot this little nugget. Ring ring, goes the mobile. Hello, said I. And this is the response. "How much for a blow job?" Take a moment. It is a good thing I had already pulled over, because I would have crashed. I asked him to repeat himself, because you know, that's not the shit you'd expect to hear on your main phone. Not the crazy Gumtree advert phone. MY PERSONAL PHONE. But, the now less confident voice repeats, and I wasn't hearing things. Turns out it was a wrong number. No shit.

Thursday 20 June 2013

Catch-up

Wind headaches. I've established this is officially a problem for me. Every time I'm on a cliff or a beach and it's windy, I get a headache and my scalp itches. And then I'm miserable, and no amount of beauty can save me. It was so windy, the car moved when parked. Before the pain set in, I had a lovely morning walking along a stretch of beach in East Cliff. The walk took me along the foot of the white chalk cliffs, in an area where the surprisingly small sign, warns of being cut off by the tide. I'm a brave lass me, so off I went. In part helped by the knowledge that there was a 2.4 family there, so I assumed the country dwellers know when to run from the tide. It was one of the best beach walks I've ever had. The chalk cliffs on my left side, and each time I turned a 'corner' there was a mini-cave waiting for me to be in awe of. One of them was huge. It would be an awesome place to have a BBQ...for a little while. Saw a man cutting some random green stuff on my way down the beach, and on the way up he was still there. I asked him what he was picking and he said 'Sand Fire'. Now I don't know about you, but I've never heard of this, but he assures me that you "boil it to get the salt out, it tastes like asparagus and the people up London pay £40kg for it". According to the woman on the asparagus farm, that's true. And they didn't have any work either.

Next message. Margate is crap and so is Broadstairs. I liked Ramsgate as the roads and buildings were reasonably nice. There is an awesome hill with a man-made stone structure-thing on both sides. I had to turn around so I could see it again. I've laid my eyes upon the smallest Asda I've ever seen. Looked more like a glorified Londis. There were only 2 check-outs and 6 self-service tills. In an Asda. Seriously. They also had two spaces for electric cars to park-and-charge. And yet two 'normal' cars parked there. Better I suppose, than the same idiots parking in the disabled spaces. Disabled people should be able to block them in with no repercussions, and the only way for them to get out faster is to help them with their shopping.

Went to the Richborough Roman Fort & Amphitheatre, no idea what it was, but I'm a member and I'm determined to go everywhere. I'll tell you what it was - huge. Honestly the things they made back then are fascinating, they even had underfloor heating. Yet the Victorians were still throwing shit out the window. It was unnaturally windy and I spent the whole time walking around with my fingers in my ears to help with the WH [figure it out]. There were three massive defensive ditches around the whole structure, must have been at least 5ft wide and at points 6ft deep. People dug that. Not builders wielding diggers. Hands, shovels, sweat. Good thing they liked bathing so much.

In the bushlands there are more railway crossings. And unlike London's few, they have half barriers, and a much shorter down time. In London it feels like you can crawl backwards across before the train arrives. Now every time I cross one, I have a mini-panic attack. Great. I've changed the way I drive, now I'm fuel efficient. I'm driving 50 in a 70 zone and I'm taking my sweet ass time pulling out at junctions. People now hate me. I haven't the money to waste on extra fuel, and besides I get to look at everything longer.

On the last night there, James went to bed and left his wallet in the living room. As soon as I noticed, I took it to his bedroom. He said "if I can't trust you, who else can I trust". Sniff sniff.