Day 136: I Get Lost

I have no sense of direction and I can't read maps. I'm not very good at following instructions either. (On the other hand, if I drive a route once I will always remember it. I think.) But I was concentrating very hard on Friday, you see, for I had to get to The Big House we had hired two hours before everyone else, what with dinner to make, tables to lay and lies of the land to be got, and the instructions were memorised and ready to be followed Very Carefully Indeed.

It was raining like a bastard on the M4. Proper sheet rain, with Richard Skinner on local radio dedicating 'True' to Nikkii of Hungerford and divvers in the middle lane eating sandwiches and smoking pipes. And I got to Frampton Mansell, turned right and thought: oh good, it is Not Yet Dark and I am On Time, and there are only a few simple instructions to follow.

"As you drive into Frampton Mansell you will see a fingerpost pointing left down the valley to Oakridge. Follow this road down the bottom and take the right turn up the hill on the other side. When you pass the sign saying Oakridge Lynch, take the next turning right and drive along the lane until it forks.

I follow the instructions and end up where I started. By now it is dark. I am on single lane country paths with high hedges on either side. If anyone comes the other way, I am more fucked than a fucked thing with a reason for being fucked. I go round again. Just as the fork comes an ENORMOUS LORRY appears. How can it get down the lane?! This is Magical! I swerve down the other fork. The drivers flash, honk and wave. They are Cheery! I reverse backwards up a hill in the pitch black. It is raining harder. I go round again, and again, and again. I am back at the beginning! What am I doing wrong?

Lo! There is a pub. I park the car. I am slightly Hysterical. I go into the pub. Silence falls as the door swings open. They know where the village is! "Go back down the road, under the viaduct. It's up the other side of the valley."

I go under the viaduct. I am in someone's garden! I reverse backwards uphill in the pouring rain. I resume the Position. Round and round I go. The instructions do not make sense. I have been At It for an hour.

Look! There is a man, with a big labrador and very thick spectacles. I stop. "You're not far, only about half a mile; I think you go down there (points vaguely), then double back on yourself; it's the third house on the right." I drive off, and round. There is the man again! He has not run, but I have driven round in another circle. He is kind and offers me more directions, and would get in the car and show me but Cannot, for "Betty has muddy paws". As I drive off, I realise the dog has a luminous yellow jacket on not because she is cold, but because her owner is blind, or at the very least partially sighted. This goes some way to explain why he is in a road in the dark in the pouring rain without a torch. He does not need one!

An hour and a half later I have still not found it. Then a sudden turn reveals the Lorry! I stop. They lean out. They are not from round here; they are Brummies doing a delivery. But they are very Cheery indeed, and offer me their SatNav. But I have no postcode. They claim to have seen the fingerpost I need a few yards back. We wave. I reverse backwards uphill in the dark and pouring rain, and resume the position.

I still cannot find it. I see a man carrying a sack! He has huge googly eyes and one of them is looking at the stars. He points me up the hill, round the corner, gives me five left turns and a double-back, and wishes me well. I stall. Tears are not far away; I am Frustrated and Lost, and the lasagne is cooking itself in the boot. I wish I had a Man with me, one that could do DIY, change tyres, reach high things that I cannot and read maps. (In return I will cook, run baths, be kind and tell jokes.) My eyes prickle a bit. I have lost reception on the radio, for I am at the Bottom Of A Valley.

I drive off. It is now two hours later. Suddenly I turn; I slow down; I stall. I look to my right. It is the House! I have Stalled outside the house!

The house is very beautiful, like the kind of house I dream about living in one day. It is Worth It.

The others arrive. They have had Trouble, but none as bad as mine. I am ashamed to admit it has taken me two hours to find the house from the A419. Everyone has been to the pub. Everyone in the pub thinks it is very funny. I am not laughing much, and then someone gives me the wine. Everyone is there. We are all laughing. It is OK.

(By the way, if you ever need to find The House from the A419, follow this map:)




















The next day in the daylight we go to Cheltenham. I drive through a pedestrianised street, past a Police Van. I am Fixed and Rigid in Primark and sent out into the rain, which is better than being in Primark. We will all meet at the Christmas Fair at 2.30, whereupon we will eat sausages in buns and look at Wooden Ties. We meet; we eat long sausage; we look at Wooden Ties. Someone buys a lipstick in the hope of getting a free mince pie. Her mission is Successful!

We get in the car to drive back. It should take twenty minutes. An hour and a half later we find The House. My passengers quietly and kindly tell me that no, it is not necessary for me to take them to the station the next day, for they will Order A Cab.

That night we all go out, all twelve of us. I order cabs to take us there and cabs to bring us back. The cab driver tells me that it is Fiendishly Difficult to find the House and that I should not fret. I tell him it took me two hours to find it. He goes very quiet. "Not THAT hard", he says, and turns up Lionel Ritchie.