Arrested Development

Rutland is the smallest county in England, for the half the year. That's when the tide is out in the Isle of Wight.

In June, I bought train tickets to Coventry.

As time passed, people made decisions to add a little 'travel fever fuck-up' to the mix. It was a Bank Holiday after all.

London Euston:
"You can’t get on this train, the one that goes direct to Coventry, the one you’re at the front of the queue for. You will have to get this train, then this replacement bus, then perhaps this train, or perhaps another replacement bus. We’re not too sure, but you can’t get this train. That’s for certain. It’s a Virgin train and you have a London Midland ticket. Today only Virgin ticketholders will travel direct."

Damn privatisation and a non-integrated transport system!

I have never felt so instantly travel sick as I did on the replacement bus between Hemel Hempstead and Northampton. The air was stale when we boarded. Food, sweat, bad breath and sick, melded like a witch’s pot of cackling spite and dust bogey soup. The bus driver, schooled in jerk-based acceleration and sudden-braking, set his mind on ensuring the complete imbalance of being.

A girl sat in the adjacent seat, folded first. She regurgitated her breakfast into a crisp packet. Yesterday’s supper, lunch and snacks followed. Her journey ended with bile. The woman sat behind her played bad radio on bad mobile phone speakers. The retching continued. At Wolverton, a group of Northampton Saints (Rugby) fans joined the wagon. They shouted at each other and at the woman playing the radio. The sweet smell of morning-supped alcohol added to the ambience. The radio played on.

At Northampton, my friend was read his rights.
"You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention - when questioned - something which you later rely on in court."

The man had driven from Coventry to save us. This was his reward. An unmarked car blocked us into the parking space at Northampton Railway Station. A girl I’d smiled at in the station toilets got out. “Are you lost?” she asked. Within seconds, two others joined her. The university lecturer, and family man, was ordered to leave his vehicle. We sat inside quite baffled.

As quick as they came, they went. No explanation. No nothing. Just a quick sorry and back to their car park stakeout. What were we suspected of? Intention to meet up with three children, and their mother, and camp at a rather nice campsite? Criminal indeed! If they had seen the sandy play area, they would have imprisoned us for sure.

We barbecued onsite and visited Rutland Water. Rutland Water is an internationally famous nature reserve, built in the 1970s, and manmade through and through. The cycling is popular, and bikes are available for hire. We hired, rode, picnicked and rode home. For one mile, I clutched an abandoned children’s bike in my right hand, riding its adult sister. All were encouraged to escape my path.

On Sunday night it rained. Seven of us gathered in tent porch. We made a set of cards from printer paper and a mismatch of children's pens. Those cards saw action until midnight. One by one, the children, aged three, seven and ten, disappeared to sleep in the adjoining pod. Meanwhile, their abandoned £5 tent filled with water. In the candlelight, we giggled at the absurdity of it all. We could barely see. The 'one of diamonds' indeed. A suit of 14 filled our night.

The trains were kind to us on Monday. I was home in time to read Kurt Vonnegurt on the beach, soak up the sun, and look forward to tea.

August Bank Holiday Weekend. Indeed!

Fabpants Recommends: Today, I am enjoying My Toys Like Me. They have an album called 'Where We Are'.

Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Sweetheart (courtesy of quietcolor.com)




Download MP3: My Toys Like Me – Bats (courtesy of quietcolor.com)