Finding The Way

I love a shortcut. Anything that looks as if it might be a quicker way of getting from A to B is seductive to me. The sudden appearance of a small unsigned lane or track if I'm in the car, or a worn path with no footpath sign to validate it is irresistible. And so I found myself yesterday facing the railway line at the end of a long right of way, with a pair of gates separating me from the other side. Now the trains to and from Lowestoft go once an hour, and I know their times. Even so, the sign by the gate invited me to use the telephone for permission to cross. Had I been on foot I could have just legged it. But I wasn't absolutely sure that crossing the track would put me back on the beaten track, not with a car. I dithered. The small railwayman's cottage beside the gate was clearly occupied, but nobody came out to see what I was doing. And so I backed up the lane for nearly half a mile before I could turn round. Why didn't I just check the track on the OS map which I keep in the door pocket beside me? Heaven only knows. As it was the poor car got scratched down both sides by overgrown hedgerows as I manoeuvred it backwards. But even so I kept grinning reassuringly to myself, repeating over and over with glee: What an adventure! When I did check the map later I saw that the track lead only to a disused pit, not the main road. At least I was spared the embarrassment of ringing for permission twice.

One of the side effects of being alone a lot is that you talk to yourself. I'm sure most people do this, and it's usually a silent conversation inside my head. I'm not mad, yet. But I've found increasingly that I can't always articulate what I want to say when the situation calls for it. And so when someone finally answered the phone at Laura Ashley and I tried to arrange for collection of an unsuitable rug purchased online, I couldn't think how to express myself. I stumbled and stuttered a bit until my brain negotiated with my tongue and the right words came out. Very disconcerting. I didn't have this problem when the oil delivery man came to fill my tank. As he climbed down from his vehicle and came towards me smiling, I could see that he was engaged in a conversation with someone on his headset. For the ten minutes it took for the the oil to flow I mooched around the garden pretending to be fascinated by something in the hedge while he carried on chatting. He completed the task, wound his long hose back up, gave me a receipt, smiled and left, without a single word being exchanged between us. Now that was weird.

One notable thing though: I was outside without a coat and it wasn't cold. Now that's progress.