Lost
Remember when Mark Thatcher got lost in the desert and his mother, the Milk Snatcher, cried? It was a time of strong emotions. In my case happiness, mostly, leading to loud bursts of laughter and just a little bit of loud cheering.
Oh no, I’m not proud of it, and of course I didn’t want the young rogue – now the old rogue, and I don’t mean that in a loveable sense – to die: but after all those Thatcherite market-forces, starve-them-into-submission, no-such-thing-as-society, entirely compassion-free pronouncements it was just a little bit pleasing to witness her tears. And anyway, he turned up, and has led a blameless life of goodwill to all men ever since.
(The panto season is nearly upon us and I invite you all to join in a loud chorus of
OH NO HE HASN’T!)
I have never been lost in the desert and one reason is because I have never been to the desert. I have, however, been to Oldham, and I have been lost there. Twice. The first time was a couple of years ago. The second time was today.
The only other time I have been lost while driving was in Liverpool where I pulled up in a garage on one of Liverpool’s lovely wide roads. Within thirty seconds half a dozen cheery Scousers were getting out their road maps and directing me to the M62. The whole event was rather fun and I went from lost to found very quickly.
It’s not like that in Oldham. The first time I was trying to find a school, where one of our actors was in a play. I had looked at the map very carefully, but they had chosen that week to change a vital road junction and I ended up - - well, somewhere, I never did find out where, but when the time for the play to start and then to finish had passed I found the M62 and ended up at home with a nice cup of tea.
Today I was trying to get to New Moston to visit my cousin, but Oldham somehow got in the way. Then it became Saddleworth, where the air is, I expect, still blue from my swearing, though Emily was remarkably calm. Still, I’ve never been to Saddleworth and the pub there looked rather good. Back to Oldham and after a trip round it, through it and finally out of it I finally reached my destination only an hour and a half late and only having done an extra twenty-six miles.
But please bear in mind that these are the only times I have ever got lost. Every other time, I have looked at the map and then set off and driven to my destination.
So it’s Oldham, not me, that is the problem. Obviously.
Oh no, I’m not proud of it, and of course I didn’t want the young rogue – now the old rogue, and I don’t mean that in a loveable sense – to die: but after all those Thatcherite market-forces, starve-them-into-submission, no-such-thing-as-society, entirely compassion-free pronouncements it was just a little bit pleasing to witness her tears. And anyway, he turned up, and has led a blameless life of goodwill to all men ever since.
(The panto season is nearly upon us and I invite you all to join in a loud chorus of
OH NO HE HASN’T!)
I have never been lost in the desert and one reason is because I have never been to the desert. I have, however, been to Oldham, and I have been lost there. Twice. The first time was a couple of years ago. The second time was today.
The only other time I have been lost while driving was in Liverpool where I pulled up in a garage on one of Liverpool’s lovely wide roads. Within thirty seconds half a dozen cheery Scousers were getting out their road maps and directing me to the M62. The whole event was rather fun and I went from lost to found very quickly.
It’s not like that in Oldham. The first time I was trying to find a school, where one of our actors was in a play. I had looked at the map very carefully, but they had chosen that week to change a vital road junction and I ended up - - well, somewhere, I never did find out where, but when the time for the play to start and then to finish had passed I found the M62 and ended up at home with a nice cup of tea.
Today I was trying to get to New Moston to visit my cousin, but Oldham somehow got in the way. Then it became Saddleworth, where the air is, I expect, still blue from my swearing, though Emily was remarkably calm. Still, I’ve never been to Saddleworth and the pub there looked rather good. Back to Oldham and after a trip round it, through it and finally out of it I finally reached my destination only an hour and a half late and only having done an extra twenty-six miles.
But please bear in mind that these are the only times I have ever got lost. Every other time, I have looked at the map and then set off and driven to my destination.
So it’s Oldham, not me, that is the problem. Obviously.
posted by Daphne at 9:05 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home