A few weeks ago I made my annual pilgrimage to Scotland. I drove
for over six hours in a car that was packed fuller than a sardine tin, with me,
two teenagers, one pre-teen, two largish dogs, and a mound of luggage which
included a mini-fridge [so that we could have cold milk for our cereal, at the
Travelodge where we were staying].
And this year, as indeed it had the year before, and the year
before that, the Glasgow Motorway [as I like to call it in my technical way]
snared me, savaged me and spat me back out in a whimpering heap.
Every single year I get to a point just outside of Glasgow
where the motorway signs seem to indicate that I should travel in two opposing directions
at once, in order to arrive at my chosen destination. At this point, ever cool
headed, I resort to my usual asking of the kids, “Which way, left or right?”
and when no answer is forthcoming, I resort to yelling, eyes wide and wild,
little veins of red showing through the whites, “WHICH WAY DO I GO? OH DEAR GOD
I’VE GONE THE WRONG WAY!”
And this year was no different. Except for one notable
exception. I took the wrong exit as usual, knowing that I always did but unable
to actually remember which one was the right one… But partway through trying to
rectify it and get back onto the motorway, I actually recognised the landmarks
due to the fact that I had gone wrong at exactly the same spot the previous
occasion and the one before that and the…
This, if nothing else proved a point - I am not beyond
learning. Perhaps not enough to stop myself from making the mistake in the
first place, but at least enough not to compound the issue when I do.
This was particularly obvious when I had to drive into the
centre of Glasgow and found that there was a strange one-way system going on
which meant that at all times you could see
where you wanted to get to, but couldn’t physically get there unless you
suddenly and inexplicably acquired the strength of Atlas and lifting the car
aloft on one shoulder, were able to hoist it through pedestrian areas and the
wrong way up one way-streets.
So why don’t I use a map or a sat-nav? Well the answer to the
satellite navigation conundrum lies buried in a previous column and as for the
map… The truth is that I am a Glaswegian by birth, so I kind of have this
belief that I can find my way around, if not by memory, then by osmosis, where
I basically absorb the knowledge unconsciously from strangers passing by. Hey
why not? – They are Glaswegian, I am Glaswegian – can’t you catch knowledge
like you do the common cold?
Apparently not! Maybe this Christmas I will treat myself to a
map… then again perhaps that would just ruin the annual adventure.
Merry Christmas!
