I am seventy and it feels good to be alive, especially after an enjoyable but at times challenging weekend away. It is only now after returning home that the impact of the shooting outrage in Northern Ireland on Saturday night when soldiers and passers by were killed, followed by the shooting of a single policeman last night, shocks and sends a different kind of shivers throughout my body, My thoughts go to the families of those who have died and to the people of Ireland who will begin to fear a return to the recent past. It is hoped that British and local politicians will not be panicked into taking measures which will play into the hands of those who want to wreck what has been achieved. I will write more another time as I am still in personal party mood.
The only aspect of my weekend I disliked was motoring across deserted countryside late at night. I do not like doing this at the best of times, but I increased normal anxiety by having required assistance from the Automobile Association on my journey to my destination. The anxiety stems from what happened in1974 when I was invited to participate in a three day orientation get together for those appointed as Directors of Social Services for the first time and travelled down on the Sunday afternoon. My vehicle broke down on A1 at what was then a five ways junction with routes to Nottingham, Sheffield and Retford. It was in the early days of AA relay and before mobile phones which meant that one was passed from one AA transporter patrol to anther and late on a Sunday night I was dumped on a roundabout close to the end of the A1 as darkness and fog descended and I was left there for about five hours until someone came after I had attracted the attention of the police. I was then not taken to South London and the home town of my mother and aunt where I was staying over night, but to their north London depot to wait for the next day‘s shift to come on and I did not arrive in Wallington until the early hours with just about time to get some sleep before contacting the garage to confirm the work and arrange for a taxi to take me to the country house in Surrey to arrive in time for the evening meal and the first session of the get together. My letter of complaint to the AA and to my Member of Parliament and others did help to make the AA change their system to ensure that once attended the same individual ensured the safe and direct passage of all those in the broken down vehicle got back home or to their planned destination.
My vehicle is ten years of age with some 90000 miles of travelling, mostly undertaken in its first five years on journeys every month to London and back to help look after for one week my birth and care mothers. After not using the vehicle for a ten days recently I attempted to set off and found the battery flat, so given this experience I only have myself to blame for what then happened on Saturday. It was a bright morning when I commenced my journey and I made good progress well in advance of my planned time table that I pulled off the motorway to visit a market town five miles away to find somewhere for a good lunch, although I had brought sandwiches, fruit and soft drink with me.
Before reaching the town centre I came to a Morrison’s supermarket, finding a parking place with difficulty given that it was Saturday morning at midday. The restaurant was crowded out with a queue from the entrance so I abandoned thoughts of a cooked meal and found an appetizing prawn and pasta salad in the food on the go section, and which I enjoyed together with a lattice apple slice, one of a pack of three. There was a cold wind in the open air but it was pleasantly warm inside the vehicle without adding heating, but I relaxed and listened to the news and to the current affairs programme, Any Questions, which commenced at 1.15 and I can remember the opening discussion and then waking just before 2pm.
My destination was 20 miles away so I did not need to set off for another fifteen minutes to register at the Travel Lodge before setting off for my second and main destination for the day. However having slept with the radio on for an hour without the engine running I instinctively new the likelihood of a flat battery, and after a few failed attempts to ignite the engine I called upon the assistance of the AA. Fortunately they were able to come within forty minutes and although it was in fact fifty, recharging the battery only took seconds and the paper work a couple of minutes. I decided to go straight to my second destination which meant that I would have to find my way to the Travel Lodge across country very late at night. On the Saturday night I decided to play safe and took a fairly main road way back to the motorway but this still involved a twisting road with rise and falls and complete blackness with cars not turning off their full beams as they approached at speed and other coming up behind at similar great speed and making plain their frustration because I was only moving at forty to fifty miles an hour. The journey was twice the distance as the across country route and at times dangerous because of the behaviour of others. I hoped to find another way.
In the bright sunshine of the early morning the journey to a small village and a pub, converted into a restaurant, was quicker and most pleasant, but I did note that the roads were narrower, the bends shaper and that there were stretches where a mile or more passed between roadside farm buildings, and several miles between two villages and a small town, so I continued to hope to find an alternative, and was pleased when later advised of a way which appeared to be the best option, involving more major roads for all but the last stretch.
However unintentionally I made a mistake and found myself going from the small town on the same route as I had taken in the morning and in due time reached the same better road but further north than the advised route so instead of crossing the road and heading across the deserted countryside for between five and six miles, I turned south for a couple of miles, passed the join-in road that and been advised, and motored on for the advised next turn off, but alas, only to be confronted with a ‘notice road ahead closed’ before a turn off to a village on the opposite of the road to my destination. I decided to continue in the hope that I was able to reach the turn off on the right side before the road closed. There was no traffic coming in the opposite direction or following me, so when I reached the second road ahead closed notice, I concluded it was time to move back. It was possible that had I gone into the village and out the other side I might have by passed the road closure but it was getting late so I decided to return back to the junction where I had joined in the ‘better’ road and try and retrace my journey of the morning. There was no other traffic in either direction until a bus went past and which appeared to confirm that I should have gone into the village on the right.
As I travelled into the desolate open countryside there was some facing traffic and a couple of vehicles were able to pass me by but for the most part I travelled alone in darkness without a property or other light. I was able to drive at my own pace, and although aware that there were some difficulty walking in the cold and darkness if the vehicle broke down it was a safer and more comfortable journey. It is only a mile or so after a substantial village and the motorway with a bridge over into a village where the Travel Lodge and service area is located and about equidistant I sudden came across a large three storey building set at right angles to the road which had lights on throughout the two or three main floors and which was constructed in such a way that it did not look like a farming enterprise but a significant production centre of some kind. The following morning as I travelled passed I noted the exceptionally tall chimney bellowing out what I wondered. There were with perhaps two dozen vehicles on either side building which suggested a work force and I also had time to observe a sign saying to the office and a postal delivery van about to leave from this area. Why was the enterprise located in the middle of nowhere and why the tall chimney?
I had more on my mind as I passed by night. On a previous visit I had attempted to reach the Travel Lodge by travelling from the south, passing the service area on my right across the dual carriageway and central reservation and had to continue for a mile or more to a garage where I was advise to enter the village alongside and just before existing the village there would be a marked sign to a road over the motorway which I could rejoin and then travel back to the service area. Just before reaching the service area there was a road almost parallel which appeared to head into the service area but which did not and I therefore presumed this went into the village which I was entering from across a bridge on the next night. However after making several tours around the village I did not find a sign indicating a second exit to the motorway going south but before the service area. It was puzzling.
At motorway service stations there is always an unadvertised way to exit one side and reach the other to enable emergency and security vehicles and local staff to reach work destinations without having to make long detours up and down the motorway. There are sometimes locked barriers requiring a code to discourage their use by motorists not using the accommodation facilities. I kicked myself for not accepting that I had to travel back across the bridge join the motorway going north, take the road into the village before the garage, then cross over and double back. At the Lodge I was greeted by the receptionist from the night before and where it looked as if I was one of only three or four individuals or parties staying, given the number of parked vehicles. I explained what had happened and she advised that there was a route which was known locally but she had had difficulty finding in daylight when first appointed as it involved going through a farmer’s field. On my next visit I hope to do better.
I have written before about living in a land of variable and inexplicable pricing. On Saturday evening before the opera I visited a restaurant for a one main course meal with a soft drink and a coffee and the bill came to £12 with the main course a chicken pasta dish with sun dried tomatoes. The chicken and pieces of tomatoes were hard to find and the plate was mostly pasta. It was disgraceful. The restaurant was part of a national chain, adjacent to a city centre multiplex, a theatre and other entertainment and food facilities. Arriving at five because the Opera was to be shown at six there were only a handful of diners but by about ten to the hour it was crowded and being city centre and with a large table area there were obviously major location overheads and staffing costs but a few more pieces of chicken and tomato would have made a difference. On the Sunday for the same money, which included a £2 concession for being over sixty, I had a meal comprising a large piece of smoked mackerel with horseradish sauce on a good size salad bed accompanied by two pieces of bread and butter. For main course there were three sliced, chunky, pieces of pork, crackling, apple sauce, stuffing, roast potatoes and a separate keep warm container of fresh sliced carrots, broccoli and cabbage, some of which I left such was the helping, and for pudding a good portion of fresh pineapple with delicious home made vanilla ice cream. A soft drink beforehand and coffee were extra but in effect five course meal cost £16.50. Understandably every table was taken and you have to book well in advance. And the name of this place and location? You must be joking. This is kept for local people and their friends and relations. Nearly forgot the service from the wife of the chef and a member of staff who served was exceptional and genuine. They really were happy to see everyone and wanted to know what everyone thought about their food choices. The contrast between the restaurants reflects in a small way what is good and bad about the UK.
I have driven through Newcastle City centre on a Saturday evening on my way to or from a theatre where one was able to park adjacent, or travelled to a Metro station close to the theatre for some thirty years and noted the liveliness of the streets with partying young people, often comprising groups of young women more than men but the scale of activity has increased over the past decade. The combined city of Newcastle and town of Gateshead on the banks of the river Tyne now have a student population in excess of 75000 out of a population of half a million and within a dozen miles there is the city of Sunderland and metropolitan Boroughs of North and South Tyneside each with there own lively areas of bars and night clubs and student populations which brings the ratio of students to population closer to one in ten. In addition coach loads of young people come in from as far away as Carlisle in Cumbria and the towns and villages Northumberland and Durham for the weekend entertainment.
Last Saturday was my most recent experience, albeit in a different city as I stood waiting for only few minutes for a city tram to a park and ride car park observing what was happening around me. There were two noteworthy incidents in addition to the general shortness and skimpiness of the clothing on a chilly night (I am not complaining for this free visual treat)! I am well used to seeing stretch limos of varying colours and hired one for the 100th birthday of my mother but I had not caught up with the development of the double sized vehicle two of which passed by in convoy. The other incident was a party of 15 to 20 young woman who were creating a stir with the shouting and arm movements. They were followed by a police passenger vehicle. The night was still young before ten.
My original intention was to concentrate this writing on the events of 1939, the year of my birth. This will carry over now until tomorrow when I will muse more on what it feels like to be 70, in the context that my birth mother reached 100 and my care mother 93. The weekend was organised so that I travelled back about lunchtime, did some shopping and enjoyed a bottle of Asti, the fifth of a half case bought as a special offer last year. No champagne which was liberally drank on the 100th birthday of my mother. I stopped off on the way back for the last pre serious lose weight treat an all day breakfast grill up so I drank the Asti accompanied only by a small salami filled finger roll and half a dozen crackers with the last of the spiced chutney and then half a carton of black grapes, so the alcohol had good effect on maintaining the high spirits of the weekend. I enjoyed the first of a twelve hour set of DVD’s on the history of jazz in the USA and the first act and half of Madam Butterfly on one CD and which included one fine day before the double portion of 24 Jack Bowers. The plot this week was ludicrous. I had gone to sleep for half an hour missing the first section and it would have been wise to have gone back to the Jazz or finished the Opera. I did some writing but it went very slowly. I did sleep well but for limited hours. I had become seventy.
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