On the Road Again

I sat in the car for over 7 hours at the weekend. A trip to S. London should have been conducted largely along the A12, so why did I end up in Stowmarket, miles out of my way along the A14 westbound? I know why: the signing around Ipswich is notoriously bad, and I've found myself in Felixstowe before now, the same distance in the other direction. Plus, I was listening to and repeating from an Italian tape and had switched onto autopilot. I will never again make that mistake. Later, much later, switching on my Satnav in the unfamiliar outer regions of NE London, I was directed again and again against my instructions to the M25 which I hate. And it kept telling me there was an incident on my route which had brought traffic to a standstill. Oh rolling nightmare, you didn't end until every muscle in my legs and buttocks had seized up. Going home was nearly as bad when I found myself following signs for East India Docks, the Isle of Dogs, Poplar. I felt as if I was in an episode of Call the Midwife. At the massive open junction at Tower Bridge I turned into five lanes of oncoming one-way traffic, all determined to hit me. Luckily city driving doesn't faze me. How wonderful, though, to finally turn off the main road into a lane with nary a vehicle to be seen, and eventually see my dear little house. That may sound a bit soppy, but it truly was an ordeal. Worth it though. Some things are beyond measurement.

It was no wonder then that yoga today was murder, sheer torture, as my shortened muscles screamed in defiance of what they were being made to do. It's a great antidote to the sedentary life that an office job and winter impose, but an excruciating one. It's an odd thing that every one of us in the hall found it easier to do things on the left side regardless of dominant hand. I use the word "easier" loosely here. Anyway, I'm back home safely after all my exertions including a lightening trip to the library to collect my ordered copy of The Children of Green Knowe. I like to be prepared. Gale force winds are howling outside - we might be on Kevin, or Lucrezia, or Mildred now for I all know, or still Imogen, but there seems to have been little pause in the ferocity for several days. When I woke in the night to go to the loo I could see the blue flashing light of a police car progressing along the main road, all of two miles away and normally invisible from here. It was a very spooky sight in the darkness, but quite reassuring too. I was asleep again in seconds.