McChristmas
Well, I suppose this was my Christmas Dinner. Mrs B and I don't really "do" Christmas. I'm not claiming some kind of superiority when I say this, or making myself out to belong to an elect, which sees things differently from the common herd. No. Nothing like that. In fact, I have found that kind of attitude in its most developed form among the most tediously orthodox people. I've no objection to Christmas at all but, of course, the excesses of its modern commercialised form are distressing to persons of refined sensibility.
So the missus and I quite enjoy a nice peaceful drive-around while good plain folk tuck in to their turkey, stuffing and plumb pud. I mean, when else can you park at the kerb in central London and wander around without fear of having your car towed away? I don't know whether it's legal, and didn't bother to consult the signs, but hey, are the traffic wardens working? Somehow I doubt it. No congestion charge either. We wandered around Mrs B's favourite Spitalfields for an hour and drove on. Ooh, it's not a bit like when you're on foot is it? I tried to get my bearings. I saw the signs for Old Street and Clerkenwell Road. Then High Holborn. Waterhouse's Prudential building loomed ahead. I swung into Fetter Lane and came out in Fleet Street. Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Millbank. We parked in Lots Road.
I'd noticed a kind of drum-roll effect from under the Bentosmobile in recent days. As we set off again after a stroll along the Chelsea Embankment the effect seemed to intensify. We rumbled up to Hyde Park Corner, around Piccadilly Circus and boomed down the Haymarket. Damn. I forgot, you can't drive past the National Gallery now. In my mind's eye I visualised the scene as our back box dropped off in the road under the stony gaze of Landseer's lions. The centre of England, whence all distances are measured.
"I'd say, from the sound of our exhaust, that we ought to head for home", I said.
So that was it. Strand, Bank, Whitechapel High Street and here to McDonald's at Bow, for the M11. Now, I suppose, when you saw the photo, you were expecting some sort of curmudgeonly moan-fest about McDonald's. Of course, there is much that might be said against them, but that's another post. I actually find the chi ...sorry, "fries", when lightly salted and however repulsively presented, jolly toothsome. Exhaust clouds rose in the still air from under the wheel-arches, indicating that the back box might, at any moment, part company with the rest of the exhaust system. We set off again.
Well, we made it home and there has been no worsening since. But this is what I hate about Christmas: all business activity is suspended until several days into the New Year ...depending on how the weekends fall. I got a recorded message when I phoned the local exhaust place this morning. Tomorrow I return to work for four 12-hour shifts. My next day off is New Year's Day ...a Bank Holiday. I suppose I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed between now and Friday 2nd January 2015. Happy New Year.
McChristmas
Well, I suppose this was my Christmas Dinner. Mrs B and I don't really "do" Christmas. I'm not claiming some kind of superiority when I say this, or making myself out to belong to an elect, which sees things differently from the common herd. No. Nothing like that. In fact, I have found that kind of attitude in its most developed form among the most tediously orthodox people. I've no objection to Christmas at all but, of course, the excesses of its modern commercialised form are distressing to persons of refined sensibility.
So the missus and I quite enjoy a nice peaceful drive-around while good plain folk tuck in to their turkey, stuffing and plumb pud. I mean, when else can you park at the kerb in central London and wander around without fear of having your car towed away? I don't know whether it's legal, and didn't bother to consult the signs, but hey, are the traffic wardens working? Somehow I doubt it. No congestion charge either. We wandered around Mrs B's favourite Spitalfields for an hour and drove on. Ooh, it's not a bit like when you're on foot is it? I tried to get my bearings. I saw the signs for Old Street and Clerkenwell Road. Then High Holborn. Waterhouse's Prudential building loomed ahead. I swung into Fetter Lane and came out in Fleet Street. Trafalgar Square, Whitehall, Millbank. We parked in Lots Road.
I'd noticed a kind of drum-roll effect from under the Bentosmobile in recent days. As we set off again after a stroll along the Chelsea Embankment the effect seemed to intensify. We rumbled up to Hyde Park Corner, around Piccadilly Circus and boomed down the Haymarket. Damn. I forgot, you can't drive past the National Gallery now. In my mind's eye I visualised the scene as our back box dropped off in the road under the stony gaze of Landseer's lions. The centre of England, whence all distances are measured.
"I'd say, from the sound of our exhaust, that we ought to head for home", I said.
So that was it. Strand, Bank, Whitechapel High Street and here to McDonald's at Bow, for the M11. Now, I suppose, when you saw the photo, you were expecting some sort of curmudgeonly moan-fest about McDonald's. Of course, there is much that might be said against them, but that's another post. I actually find the chi ...sorry, "fries", when lightly salted and however repulsively presented, jolly toothsome. Exhaust clouds rose in the still air from under the wheel-arches, indicating that the back box might, at any moment, part company with the rest of the exhaust system. We set off again.
Well, we made it home and there has been no worsening since. But this is what I hate about Christmas: all business activity is suspended until several days into the New Year ...depending on how the weekends fall. I got a recorded message when I phoned the local exhaust place this morning. Tomorrow I return to work for four 12-hour shifts. My next day off is New Year's Day ...a Bank Holiday. I suppose I'll just have to keep my fingers crossed between now and Friday 2nd January 2015. Happy New Year.