Wrong Turnings

Many a good novel or play of the past has carried a subtitle: I offer but two examples, which you may or may not recognise: "or What You Will"  and "or The Mistakes of a Night".  This may not be in the same league, but today I offer one of my own to apply to what I'm about to write: "or Oh, I Know Where I Am Now".

When I started driving for a living, the number of times I'd driven within the M25 could be counted on one hand ... two at the most. I've often told of praying for a red traffic light so that I could snatch a quick peek at the map on the seat beside me.  Eventually I learned my way around the metropolis, and my subtitle above was often muttered after following the map from one new destination to another.

Since moving to Yorkshire last summer, I've had to undergo just such a customisation.  At first it was finding a shorter way to join the M1 southbound to avoid a lengthy dog-leg via the A1(M) and the M18.  The first route I took was to junction 35 by way of Swinton, Rawmarsh and the outskirts of Rotherham.  Then I found a shorter way through Mexborough and Conisbrough to junction 1 of the M18 and, more recently I've discovered an even shorter route to emerge at junction 31.

In each case, having noted my chosen route from the map (SatNav was no use because, as soon as I turned away from its suggestion, it was trying to turn me back again), I found I had to make the journey quite a number of times before I got it right, and I've lost count of the number of times I've told my cousin that I 'took a wrong turning at so-and-so'.  The worst of it was, having checked with the map and realised where I went wrong, I then got that bit right next time, but made a different error instead.

During the Covid pandemic, having enjoyed many of their zoom lectures, I decided to join the Western Front Association, and last month I attended my first live meeting of the Yorkshire branch.  The route was quite straightforward: A1(M), A64 and the York ring road.  The only trouble was that virtually every time I'd driven up that part of the A1 I'd been going further, and by the time I spotted the A64 turning, I was in the wrong lane, still heading for Scotland!  I only just got to the meeting in time!

Today I went to the next meeting.  It was very good, and the speaker excellent.  I made sure I was in the right lane at the right time and the journey was hitch-free.  The bug was still with me, however. and I muffed getting on to the little side road to get me onto the village roads between the A1(M) and home.  Instead of heading for my own front door, I was on the main road again, heading back towards Leeds!

Needless to say, I took the first possible escape route.  I battled with totally unknown winding lanes and the blinding low-angled sun in my face, and at last I uttered that well worn subtitle again. I'd arrived in Hooton Pagnell, a beautiful village of stone buildings that I pass through if I go to watch Frickley Athletic play football.