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Good day again supporters. (Smiley face)

I promised I’d post another update with an extract for people who aren’t yet supporters. If you can read this and you haven’t yet pledged then consider yourself Schrödinger’s supporter. (That doesn’t mean I want you to support Schrödinger’s book, I’m sure he doesn’t need the pledges [as he’s dead], and maybe his book does, or does not, exist. But let’s not get into all that quantum stuff right now.) Let’s just say you are potential supporter and your wave form hasn’t yet collapsed, whatever that means. (Quizzical face)

Anyway, here’s an unedited extract from In SatNav We Trust from a mysterious county somewhere in England (a little over half way around, clue?).

Feel free to post this on Facebook, Twitter, tablets of stone (provide your own chisels) and whatever social media you like. But probably just Facebook and Twitter because that’s what the buttons say. Geeks might know better. (Any geeks please don’t break my burgeoning writing career.)

(Smiley Face)


Swinging into the entrance I encountered numerous booths with red and white barriers and white lines painted on the wide approach road complete with areas of scary hatching. Stopping dead in my tracks I noted signs declaring one was for owners only. I was clearly not an owner, whatever that was but I suspected that, had I been an owner, I would know that I was one. One lane was closed and, being a frequent user of supermarkets, I knew not to waste time on that one. The fourth lane was for people leaving and a long history of life experience told me that I should ignore that lane. I did note that there were three times as many lanes for people arriving as there were for people leaving and I wondered about there being some Tardis like effect going on here. A camp site that is bigger on the inside than the outside would certainly be an interesting place to spend some time, though I’m sure the novelty would wear off eventually.

I picked the only remaining option that wasn’t closed, that wasn’t for owners, that wasn’t for people leaving or anything else that didn’t describe me. Pulling up to the gate I found myself talking to a nice man seated in the booth at the controls of the red and white barrier. I say at the controls but I don’t know that strictly. We’ve all been through entrance gates, toll booths, security barriers and the like but how many of us ever actually see what you might imagine to be the array of controls similar to the early models of the Starship Enterprise. Of course, the reality is probably that they have two controls, Up, Down, and Drop-the-barrier-on-the-car-before-it-can-get-through otherwise known as the sudden death button. I know that’s three but, hey.

“Have you been here before?” asked the nice man with all the buttons.

“No, it’s my first time,” I smiled at the nice man at the controls.

“You need to pull into the layby.”

“The layby?” I looked around but couldn’t see the layby from my position close up against the booth.

“Over there,” he pointed through the Truck and out the other side beyond the rear nearside roof pillar.

I craned my head behind me to see the distant layby through my rear passenger window, across the closed lane, the owners’ lane and the lane for days when there is an R in the month. “Over there?” I asked. “Is it okay to reverse over there? There’s all the things painted on the road, white lines and all that scary hatching.”

“That’s okay, just reverse over there.”

I pictured reversing right across the road, across multiple lanes of oncoming caravans and owners, whatever they are, with all sorts of massive four by fours bearing down on me.

I didn’t fancy it.

Putting the Truck into reverse I started to withdraw just as a Landrover started to approach from behind. Being as this was the only open lane, assuming that he wasn’t an owner, whatever that was, and he wasn’t leaving at the same time as arriving in some weird Mobius strip type phenomena, he probably had no choice than to approach the booth where I was currently causing a blockage.

Fortunately, the Landrover stopped, as did I, but going backwards was clearly no longer an option available to me. So, there, in the only available lane, in the full view of the nice man at the sudden death button and the driver of the Landrover, I proceeded to perform a fantastically well executed seventeen-point turn (or some such but it was hardly an elegant display of precision driving). Driving back, I crossed all the white lines, and the hatching where you might imagine there are booby traps for those that venture out of the safe zone lest you claim to be an owner, whatever that is, and pulled into the layby. A moment later I climbed out of the Truck with something of a sense of relief, noticing a slight smell of poo.


Thanks again for the support and thanks for reading this far, again. (Smiley face).


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I don’t think I’ve ever used the word burgeoning before. (Strangely weird face with a straight line for a smile)