Post by Den Tistry on May 22, 2006 21:33:39 GMT
Well, while I'm at it, this was the report of my first date with La Belle Tiquey - all those years ago...
They often say that when you visit somewhere, you leave a little part of you behind.
In this case, it was my car.
“Come up for th’weekend!”, said Ann Tique. Sounds like a good idea!
Plan journey – Microsoft AutoRoute reckons its 198.3 miles from Swindon and will take 3 hours 11mins.
Hmm – what do they know? - let’s say 4 hours for safety.
Leave Swindon 2 o’clock on Friday. Two hours into epic journey, where are we now? M5 at Worcester – 45 miles and travelling at 0mph. All going to plan – just not sure who’s.
Journey takes 5 hours – car only overheated once, Den overheated several times – whenever Sally Traffic mentioned M5/M6.
Finally arrive at Colne! Check directions again. I know I’m going to get hopelessly lost, so discard directions and pick up phone. Get answerphone – try mobile – get ringing tone and nothing else. Phone a friend?, fifty/fifty??
At last! An answer, and am directed up and down hills the like of which I’ve only seen before on proving grounds for tanks.
Finally arrive to warm greetings and … (skips bits I’m sure you won’t be interested in).
Saturday dawns. I must say that this is the first time I’ve spent a Saturday morning on a coach to Huddersfield in the company of 55 women – many of whom are in various states of undress. Not that I noticed, looking out the window, you understand.
Brief thought of a banner over the windscreen – “Den Tistry ---Nelson Civic Ladies Choir”.
Yes, this was the full choir (of whom Ann is a stalwart member) off to engage in contest (and possibly some martial arts) at the “Mrs Sunderland Music Festival.”
Finally, after much song, the NCLC win First place – out of ten in their group! Sadly, though, only placing third over the whole event.
A long day – back on t’bus at 10PM. Won the wine in the on-bus raffle – bit of a fix I think, as I’m sure they just wanted to know who “Ann’s Young Man” was – so did I!
Sunday – what to do with a rainy Sunday??
Bing! Let’s pay a surprise visit to Dawn Onmisoon and Juan Hover VIII.
It was worth braving the torrential rain and interminable traffic if only for the look on Dawn’s face as she opened the door!
They professed to be glad to see us – if only as they’d been decorating, and had not yet managed to find a plausible reason to stop.
Dawn recovered well, wresting a plate of choccy biccies from a passing Tyg and quickly baking a cake (well, slicing an M&S one anyway).
Finally bid fond farewells, and left (unusually free from insect bites) to take the scenic route back.
Unfortunately, just as we reached the really wild and desolate parts, my radiator decided it was bored, and turned into a kettle.
Nothing for it, but to press on as best we could, with the Lancashire monsoon in full spate, until we reached (as we later discovered) the EXACT centre of the UK - Dunsop Bridge, for the curious – where we found the road blocked by - not so much standing water as a small reservoir.
“It’s only halfway up the wheels”. That was on the few who made it through.
Check the alternatives – there aren’t any.
Now the approved method is “slowly, slowly, with lots of revs”. I’ll bet the person who suggested that never drove a low slung automatic!
When the bow wave broke over the bonnet, and started lapping at the windscreen, I realised that this was not going to be altogether a success. The car agreed, gulped water into the engine – and stopped with an unmistakable air of finality.
A very helpful man – who was out, clad in wellies, digging in search of the drain (there’s obviously not that much to do on Sundays in those parts) directed us “a country mile” to the nearest garage, where the proprietor (with an air of “yet another one”) came and towed us out to the relative safety of his garage. A fine man, who let us warm up in his office while we waited for the lift that Ann summoned up. “He’ll only be ½ hour.”
1 ½ hours later, after we felt we’d tried the garage owner’s patience to the limit, found us huddled in a phone box – not just ANY phone box, but the 100,000th phone box! We knew that, as BT had thoughtfully engraved it – with a map of the UK on all the glass, obviously to provide succour to, well, suckers who might be stuck there.
At last! The long awaited lift arrived (having taken a wrong turning – off a road where there are no wrong turnings, but who was I to ask??) So we arrived home at 9 o‘clock after 4 hours standing in soaked shoes.
Ann headed off to retrieve a long overdue TYG, whilst I examined my feet. They looked like something that might have accompanied Scott to the pole. Half an hour of intense massage and applied positive thought finally resulted in my toes changing colour from white to red.
If the theory of the pain/pleasure balance is correct, then someone, somewhere must be having as much fun as its possible to have without exploding.
Monday – hurrah! It’s stopped raining. Make arrangements with Ann’s tame garage to retrieve and fix (or inter) my car, and head for Leeds.
After a pub lunch, resignedly head for the station for fond farewells (more uninteresting bits glossed over).
Finally, there’s Den looking at the impressive departure boards – all computer controlled. Now, 14:02 to Huddersfield, 14:10 to Bradford, but where’s the 14:05 to London??
The board that should have shown the 14:05 to London was rather incongruously - and somewhat worryingly – showing a Windows 95 background, and a pop-up window saying “New Hardware Found”.
Taking my courage in both hands, along with the luggage I remembered thinking – “glad I’m not taking this by train” – I eventually found the “New Hardware” on platform 5 – and installed myself into it.
Thankfully, an uneventful journey brought me to Reading – almost home. Fate, however, still had one last thrust left, as the automatic ticket machine from which I bought a ticket to Sandhurst decided it would give me one to Henley-On-Thames instead, confusing the inspector only marginally more than I was.
One last gasp, and there I was! Safely back at Tistry Towers!
I’ll say this, those Lancastrians certainly know how to show a country boy a wild time!
My Weekend In Lancashire
By D. Tistry (aged – oh yes, it has aged me)
By D. Tistry (aged – oh yes, it has aged me)
They often say that when you visit somewhere, you leave a little part of you behind.
In this case, it was my car.
“Come up for th’weekend!”, said Ann Tique. Sounds like a good idea!
Plan journey – Microsoft AutoRoute reckons its 198.3 miles from Swindon and will take 3 hours 11mins.
Hmm – what do they know? - let’s say 4 hours for safety.
Leave Swindon 2 o’clock on Friday. Two hours into epic journey, where are we now? M5 at Worcester – 45 miles and travelling at 0mph. All going to plan – just not sure who’s.
Journey takes 5 hours – car only overheated once, Den overheated several times – whenever Sally Traffic mentioned M5/M6.
Finally arrive at Colne! Check directions again. I know I’m going to get hopelessly lost, so discard directions and pick up phone. Get answerphone – try mobile – get ringing tone and nothing else. Phone a friend?, fifty/fifty??
At last! An answer, and am directed up and down hills the like of which I’ve only seen before on proving grounds for tanks.
Finally arrive to warm greetings and … (skips bits I’m sure you won’t be interested in).
Saturday dawns. I must say that this is the first time I’ve spent a Saturday morning on a coach to Huddersfield in the company of 55 women – many of whom are in various states of undress. Not that I noticed, looking out the window, you understand.
Brief thought of a banner over the windscreen – “Den Tistry ---Nelson Civic Ladies Choir”.
Yes, this was the full choir (of whom Ann is a stalwart member) off to engage in contest (and possibly some martial arts) at the “Mrs Sunderland Music Festival.”
Finally, after much song, the NCLC win First place – out of ten in their group! Sadly, though, only placing third over the whole event.
A long day – back on t’bus at 10PM. Won the wine in the on-bus raffle – bit of a fix I think, as I’m sure they just wanted to know who “Ann’s Young Man” was – so did I!
Sunday – what to do with a rainy Sunday??
Bing! Let’s pay a surprise visit to Dawn Onmisoon and Juan Hover VIII.
It was worth braving the torrential rain and interminable traffic if only for the look on Dawn’s face as she opened the door!
They professed to be glad to see us – if only as they’d been decorating, and had not yet managed to find a plausible reason to stop.
Dawn recovered well, wresting a plate of choccy biccies from a passing Tyg and quickly baking a cake (well, slicing an M&S one anyway).
Finally bid fond farewells, and left (unusually free from insect bites) to take the scenic route back.
Unfortunately, just as we reached the really wild and desolate parts, my radiator decided it was bored, and turned into a kettle.
Nothing for it, but to press on as best we could, with the Lancashire monsoon in full spate, until we reached (as we later discovered) the EXACT centre of the UK - Dunsop Bridge, for the curious – where we found the road blocked by - not so much standing water as a small reservoir.
“It’s only halfway up the wheels”. That was on the few who made it through.
Check the alternatives – there aren’t any.
Now the approved method is “slowly, slowly, with lots of revs”. I’ll bet the person who suggested that never drove a low slung automatic!
When the bow wave broke over the bonnet, and started lapping at the windscreen, I realised that this was not going to be altogether a success. The car agreed, gulped water into the engine – and stopped with an unmistakable air of finality.
A very helpful man – who was out, clad in wellies, digging in search of the drain (there’s obviously not that much to do on Sundays in those parts) directed us “a country mile” to the nearest garage, where the proprietor (with an air of “yet another one”) came and towed us out to the relative safety of his garage. A fine man, who let us warm up in his office while we waited for the lift that Ann summoned up. “He’ll only be ½ hour.”
1 ½ hours later, after we felt we’d tried the garage owner’s patience to the limit, found us huddled in a phone box – not just ANY phone box, but the 100,000th phone box! We knew that, as BT had thoughtfully engraved it – with a map of the UK on all the glass, obviously to provide succour to, well, suckers who might be stuck there.
At last! The long awaited lift arrived (having taken a wrong turning – off a road where there are no wrong turnings, but who was I to ask??) So we arrived home at 9 o‘clock after 4 hours standing in soaked shoes.
Ann headed off to retrieve a long overdue TYG, whilst I examined my feet. They looked like something that might have accompanied Scott to the pole. Half an hour of intense massage and applied positive thought finally resulted in my toes changing colour from white to red.
If the theory of the pain/pleasure balance is correct, then someone, somewhere must be having as much fun as its possible to have without exploding.
Monday – hurrah! It’s stopped raining. Make arrangements with Ann’s tame garage to retrieve and fix (or inter) my car, and head for Leeds.
After a pub lunch, resignedly head for the station for fond farewells (more uninteresting bits glossed over).
Finally, there’s Den looking at the impressive departure boards – all computer controlled. Now, 14:02 to Huddersfield, 14:10 to Bradford, but where’s the 14:05 to London??
The board that should have shown the 14:05 to London was rather incongruously - and somewhat worryingly – showing a Windows 95 background, and a pop-up window saying “New Hardware Found”.
Taking my courage in both hands, along with the luggage I remembered thinking – “glad I’m not taking this by train” – I eventually found the “New Hardware” on platform 5 – and installed myself into it.
Thankfully, an uneventful journey brought me to Reading – almost home. Fate, however, still had one last thrust left, as the automatic ticket machine from which I bought a ticket to Sandhurst decided it would give me one to Henley-On-Thames instead, confusing the inspector only marginally more than I was.
One last gasp, and there I was! Safely back at Tistry Towers!
I’ll say this, those Lancastrians certainly know how to show a country boy a wild time!