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I'm fixing a hole where the rain gets in.

Having traveled up to Derbyshire via National Express I decided that it would be preferable to hitch hike back rather than go through that again. It was probably a few late nights had left me too obtuse to adapt this plan in light of the impending rain and having found my way to a likely looking roundabout I stuck out my thumb and was delighted to be picked up within a minute! The good thing about hitch hiking is that it is so much more sociable a way to travel than public transport, if someone picks you up they tend to be minded to engage in conversation. Compare this if you will to travel by bus or to a lesser extent by train; attempts I have made to break into conversation at such times have often been met with stony silence, admittedly I am more inclined to talk to attractive females than other passengers and I do understand that looking nervous and avoiding eye could in fact be a hobby but the point remains; we Brits are not that friendly when traveling about the place. The exception is when hitch hiking, it's great you get to travel in comfort and talk to all manner of people. The downside, as I discovered 11 miles down the road is that is it not a very reliable means of transportation. After being dropped off at an under-subscribed motorway service station with no more than a packet of custard creams for company I began to get a sinking feeling, I have only ever tried to hitch in the midlands on two occasions before and neither of them could be described as successful. Car after occasional car went by immune to my cheery approachable "I'm not an axe murderer" smile I tried to convey. As it began to rain and the minutes trickled by I started to worry, I could end up in the middle of nowhere in an hour or two and be unable to get a lift once darkness came. Then what would I do? Sleeping outside without bedding, shelter or means to light a fire wasn't a prospect that particularly filled me with delight and so as my smile became more and more forced so the cars seemed to pay less attention to me save for the occasional wit sticking his thumbs up back at me before speeding off contentedly wrapped in a bubble of his own humour and climate control.

 

Then it happened. A familiar burble rose me from my thoughts and across the concrete waste land like a beacon of hope and light it came, a split screen VW camper van.

"If I can't get a lift from a camper van I might as well give up" I thought to myself. So I stuck my thumb out grinned like an idiot and willed the beautiful machine to stop, which it did, right in front of me. A quick conversation later established that we were heading in the same direction so I hopped in, was stunned by the pristine condition of such an old vehicle and of we went. It turned out that Carl, for that was the name of the driver was taking Lottie, the camper-van, back to Somerset and would be passing Oxford on the way. Perfect! So once again I found myself deep in conversation. It turns out that Carl was going back home from a wedding where he and Lottie had chauffeured the happy couple for their big day. It made me think that it might be worth getting married http://www.volksweddings.com/

 Once I got back to Oxford I went to visit friends who were out and stopped for Fish and Chips before heading home. It was raining, you may recall that I recently rebuilt my shelter, it may not surprise you to learn that I hadn't done a very good job of it, over the course of the night I got quite damp, the drips coming through the roof were to numerous for me to contort myself around them and so my morning I had not slept much and I was quite damp. I did think about having a sense of humour failure about this but opted instead to fix the problem once it was light. This took no more that about ten minutes and feeling quite pleased with myself I went to London on Sunday to work on a bar at a party there. It was mid-day on Monday before I squelched my way home through the mud looking forward to some desperately needed sleep. I had managed to get some sleep on the way home, in fact I had woken up at both ends of the central line before I managed to stay awake long enough to get off the tube at the right stop and catch the bus home. It had been very windy on Sunday night and broken branches and bent bushes littered my path home, I was dreading returning in case home had blown away but was pleasantly surprised to find it still there. I was less pleased to find that the wind had blown so much rain in that my sleeping bag was dripping wet. I rung it out as best as I could donned waterproof over trousers, coat and thick woolly socks and got into the sopping wet bag cursing myself for being so slack and undisciplined as to let this happen. Almost instantly my socks were wet through but they were made of wool so would keep me warm nevertheless. I fell asleep almost instantly my last conscious thought being that my body heat should dry the bag out by morning. It was only three hours later when I woke to find that the wet sleeping bag was still wet and it was my body heat that was giving out as it was the shivering that woke me. Having got up, run around a bit to warm up and investigated my by now wrinkled feet it was apparent that the only option was to light a fire and dry the sleeping bag by the heat of it. This operation took about five hours and on one occasion I managed to dry the sleeping bag so successfully that it started to melt. During this time I took stock of my situation and realised through such discoveries as; I can't find anything; and, why is there suntan lotion all over the contents of the rucksack that I have become lazy and disorganised. This will not do, slipping standards here in the UK result in no more than a bit of discomfort, in the jungle the results could be far more serious.

 

Today then I have turned over a new leaf and started to restructure my life before leaving for "the office" this morning. As I walked away from home this morning satisfied that things were not yet in order but becoming so I was disturbed by the sound of a large branch landing with a thud not twenty meters away, for a moment I was confused as to how this could have happened as there was no wind but the answer lay in the sky. Once again a Red Kite had tried to perch on a dead tree (the same dead tree by the way) and the branch it landed on had given way. Whether this was by accident or it was designed to brain me I do not know, I have previously almost been hit by a decapitated rat dropped by a Kite so it is possible that they view my presence with exception.

 

Today's travel story of the day is here.

Posted on Tuesday, May 29, 2007 at 15:58 by Registered CommenterJam | Comments2 Comments

Reader Comments (2)

Thanks Hugh - an enjoyable read!
May 30, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterJoe Meering
I won't forget the first time the Kite tried to land on that tree! Most amusing!
P
September 12, 2007 | Unregistered CommenterPaddy

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