I have been in this part of the country for a while now, and for the first time ever was in Haverhill yesterday. An odd place, and boy are the houses cheap down that way. No matter, not the point. What I meant to say was, I have explored the immediate vicinity rather well, but not much further. Not that there has been a need to. But you know, all those East Anglian churches, just asking to be photographed. And I may even find a quiet, non-man-made fishing hole. So I am resolved to rectify this. I may head out early in the morn, out towards the scary Midwich Norwichshire villages, with Amahlia in tow. Y’see, Ely is only down the road, but far enough away that I can complain at the journey time. Which is just over half-an-hour. The horror. Bury St Edmonds isn’t that much farther, although in the opposite (ish) direction.

I fancy just picking a direction, pointing Caitlin that way, and driving. Leaning out the window, pipe in hand and tweed over arm. Anyone care to join me? In convoy, more than likely. And what fun can you have in your standard saloon car, just like every other grey box on the road.? There is something special about old Brit Iron. (Speaking to a fellow earlier, he says Ah, I saw you on the road, it could only have been you, no one else has a car like that. Which is true. She is mine, and I wouldn’t be without her. So thoughts again turn to some surgery, as every gal that age will need it eventually. Although she is sturdy, I should plan properly, and not just longingly.)

No plan, just drive out towards somewhere, stopping somewhere, being out there and not knowing what we will see. Just going. Just travelling. No plan, just drive out towards something.

I also see that there is a Triumph Club just north of Cambridge-Town. I may turn up next month, you never know.

Sometimes I am calm, and whimsy takes over.

Bend your mind with the Hasselhoffian recursive animated favicon. Of course, you need to select another tab (Look. Away. From. The. Image.) and once that is done, you can see the true nature. There is no escape.

Not that that counts as whimsy, it was tacked in as the only paragraph in this post, while I collected my thoughts on what to write. It wasn’t originally going to be about me, Caitlin and hooning along country lanes to the next pub, it was a tale of obsession, thighs and lows. That can wait.

  1. here’s hoping the adventurous spirit sees you to Leicester for the th December. :)
    We have days ike that, we set out and see where we feel like going when we work out which direction we are heading in. Bliss.

    Mon 22 Oct, 7:42PM

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