Hm. I hadn’t been drinking or anything. I think, in the last post, that I was just a touch unguarded and let you into the way my mind really works all the time.
Now, I have been drinking, and so I’ll be far more circumspect.
The Sage found more mushrooms on the field today. As we walked home from the PCC meeting, he said that the weather was perfect for mushrooms. Since he doesn’t even like them, I thought that was considerate. He picked about 8 of them for me. I cooked them, with shallots and wine, this evening. There was one small mushroom that wasn’t quite like the rest. I cooked it, but I put a little bit on one side. Just in case Ro or I feel as if a coma is coming on tonight. I’m sure there will be an antidote.
And the odds are that it will be fine anyway.
Not that I have time for a coma. I’ve got a lot to do before I go to London on Friday. I mentioned my exciting Oyster card. I am studying bus routes, so that I will know where to go off the bus and not be swept off into the wilds of North London. I’ve driven to my daughter’s flat a couple of times. The second time, I was alone, it was November, dark and rainy. I got lost. It was the rush hour. It wasn’t easy to stop to consult the A to Z, useful book though that is. In the end, I rang her and she guided me the last couple of miles to her flat.
My bump of direction isn’t bad, but you don’t have much to go on with English street signs. Whether in the town or in the country, they lead you a long way astray. And then leave you flat, without any clue at all.
I remember an occasion, a few years ago, when I took Ro back to Lancaster University after Christmas. A friend, whose father lives in Lancaster, had asked for a lift. He hadn’t seen his dad for a few months and it was a good opportunity to spend the night there, we could share the driving, be company on the road etc.
We got hopelessly lost in Lincolnshire.
Really. There were road works and we thought we could find a way to circumvent them without following a long and devious way through God-knows-where. Well, we went places God had never thought of. At each junction we stopped, consulted the map, decided which road to take – and then, half a mile down the road, none of the places mentioned in the last sign seemed to exist any more. We had planned to stop for dinner. In the event, when we finally found a main road, we stopped for a quick cup of coffee, rang our respective families and then hurried back, two hours late. When you add to this the unusual attitude to road markings one finds in Lincolnshire, it’s not surprising that it is not my favourite county.
I found myself having to pass, on a blind corner, a parked lorry marked ‘Motorway Maintenance’ this afternoon. This was on a B road, the B1332 from Norwich to Yagnub, in a county that has never seen a motorway. This seems odd, but I will not question it. Not mine to reason why.