I don’t have sat nav. The reasons are
a. I’m not good at being told what to do
b. The lady’s voice gets on my flipppin nerves
c. The last one I had kept taking me to Andorra (via toll roads and ferries apparently) when I wanted to go to Hertford, and Dagenham when I wanted to go to central London.
d. I like to navigate by the stars (alright I don’t, I tend to use maps and road signs)
So, is this the manifestation of an adventurous spirit, long buried deep in my psyche? Was I once in a past life on wagon train heading due West across the great plains of America?They didn’t have sat nav, did they? Am I descended from seafarers, perhaps, navigating by the sun and the stars? Or am I simply impatient and like things written down on bits of paper with diagrams on them – like maps?
Maybe its the fact that I’m Welsh…my famous countryman, indeed, countyman, being from West Glamorgan – Sir Anthony Hopkins – famously loves to get in a car and just drive on the open road for miles and miles and miles. . But he can do it across America. I just get caught in one-way systems.
Last week on a rare visit home I somehow managed to travel from Swansea to Port Talbot by mistake. I wanted to go to Neath. I know I don’t go home often but Neath has always been between Swansea and Port Talbot so why the bloody hell I thought it had suddenly moved East, I’ll never know. That’s an hour out of my life I’ll never get back.
The reason this has come to a head is because, as I have decided to do all sorts of new things this year, I thought I’d use my considerable driving (but not navigational) skills to help out some friends who were running an event in London. By transporting some of the people involved to the venue.
My task: travel from Russell Square to a hotel on Grays Inn Road and back. How long? Ten minutes? I can’t say I had a lovely time on my hour long accidental journey to the Arsenal Stadium, but at least I saw bits of London I had never seen before. I wish I could say I met many interesting people and had many adventures en-route, a la Jack Kerouak and his legendary book, On the Road. But all I did was sit in my car, clench my teeth and look wide eyed and scary. I mean no-one’s going to talk to you when you look like that, are they.
I blame that first encounter with the one way system near the Euston Road, and the belief that at some point I could turn right and all would be well.
Nahh
It was as if Herbie the yellow beetle had taken over my little lime green fiesta and decided he’d like to take a closer look at a Premier League football ground. Anyway, Herbie got me back to the hotel, evenutally. The people I was supposed to collect apparently “made their own way there” in the end. I was relieved of my driving duties….
A few weeks ago I said I’d drop a friend home after a night out at a comedy club in Shoreditch. She lives near London Bridge. Driving along the Embankment I was puzzled to find that I had lost London bridge. how did that happen.? I dropped my friend at Charing Cross, much further away from her home than where she’d started the journey in my car. She insisted on catching a tube home.
My children are very strong characters these days, and now fully accept a few detours as a normal part of our journeys. We have learned view them as interesting, educational, and an added extra in our travels from A to B – sort of A to B via H, S and sometimes Z.
However, the Florence trip is one we never wish to try again. I managed to drive our little sky blue hire car (affectionately known as the Sewing Machine) from Barga, north of Lucca, and two hours from Florence, right into the centre of the city and straight to a car park. Oh Yes! Result. Getting back should be a piece of cake..
Couldn’t get out of Florence. I just kept driving round and round and round in our little blue sewing machine. So that when I saw a sign for Pisa I followed it, knowing it to be in the right “general” direction. We ended up in Pisa – an hour further along than Lucca. So I turned the car round and headed back to the town. By now fairly disorientated, I took the wrong road north from Lucca – highlighted by the words of the song, “Got to Turn Around,” which was playing at the time. So, I turned around. Finally managing to get to our hotel, which was at the top of a very steep and windy hill, I ordered a bottle of wine from room service and drunk it in half an hour. Florence was gorgeous, I know, but next time I’m flying in.
I remember at the end of that holiday dropping our sewing machine off at the airport. But I had obviously reached breaking point. I was unable to manouvre my tiny car into the parking space. It was painful to do. And it was painful to watch. I know this, because after about fifteen minutes of weary backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, the hire car man could take it no more and said I could just leave the car there. So we did. Discarded it half way in and half way out of a parking space..and left the country…
And there are many others – the engine catching on fire on a journey from lagos in Portugal to Lisbon, the catering saucepans incident last year when I forgot where I’d parked, the driving the wrong way up a one way street near the Houses of Parliament…
I’m going into London soon, and plan to take the train.
