|This photograph of Godstone gives you some idea of |
the grey and overcast morning we were having. Andy
was planning on a barbecue this evening – not anymore!
It started to rain so we made our way across the green to some shelter near a lonely and deserted children's playground and stood there sipping tea and munching on our cereal bars watching the rain.
The main topic of conversation today was that men don't like asking for directions and that it has to be something to do with the admission of defeat, ie that asking means you've lost the game. We might eventually be cajoled into asking for directions but, to be honest, as whoever tells us what we're supposed to want to hear, we are not listening, we don't want to be told, we'll find our own way.
Wife/girlfriend: "Well, what did he say?"
Bloke: "Er, yeah, it's this way. I was right all along."
And then, of course, luck either plays its part or you end up having to ask somebody else while accusing the first directions giver of being a fraudster.
Bloke: "He gave us the wrong directions deliberately, I reckon."
We let the rain ease off before donning our helmets and heading back home, this time along the original footpath running alongside Bar Pond and then left when we reached the church. The climb out of Godstone back to where Northdown Road joins The Ridge, is pretty severe, but we got there and parted company at the top of Slines Oak Road.
|Rain dribbles down from a drain, what a pain, muddy|
country lanes, old men with canes, the mentally insane, with
nothing to gain but varicose veins for a life in chains.
On the way home I passed the crime scene again. The road was no longer closed but the area surrounding the house had been cordoned off and there were photographers taking shots of the burnt out house. The Fire Brigade were still there too but all I could think about was my breakfast and whether or not I should drop into Waitrose and buy some oranges.