Today was a day unlike any other we’ve experienced in the UK. It seemed to start reasonably enough. Though we awoke to find a thick blanket of fog shrouding the fields surrounding Thurlby, we had no trouble packing the car and setting out after breakfast. I had decided not to use the GPS but to navigate the old fashioned way, by map atlas. My plan was to stay off the major expressways and keep to the secondary roads in hopes of stumbling across some singular point of interest that might give us a reason to pull over and stretch our legs. But as the miles ticked away, no such point of interest presented itself. Originally, when I laid out the trip, I had decided on something like 150 miles for this leg, so I didn’t think we’d be on the road too long. I turned out to be wrong.
For some reason the route I chose just sort of meandered around and trended in a direction somewhat easterly of where I really wanted to go. Still, like I said, the scenery was great so we decided to just go with it. Still, by the time we reached the toll bridge over the Humber River, I decided I better get serious and plot the real route to our destination. That’s when I found out how circuitous a route I had been driving. But never mind, we’d just have to keep moving and we’d make it in plenty of time.
That’s when I took a wrong turn and ended up on a limited-access expressway headed the exact opposite of the way I intended. Mile after mile I could find no way to reverse direction. Finally, when a roadside sign announced that we were headed toward the city of York, I said to Concetta, “Okay, we can deal with this. There’s a road that goes directly from York to Hartlepool, our ultimate destination.”
“That sounds okay,” Concetta said. “We still have plenty of time.”
“Yes,” I said, “and I think there’s a Viking archaeological dig going on in York. We can stop and see it and still make Hartlepool before dinner time.” Archaeology is Concetta’s favorite subject for those of you who don't know.
“That will be wonderful,” she said.
A short time later we actually reached the outskirts of York and one of the UK’s ubiquitous roadside brown signs announced not only the Viking site, but the world’s largest railroad museum, as well as an antique airplane museum.
“Wow,” I said. “Did you see that sign? There’s tons of stuff here to do.”
“Let’s have tea first,” she said. “Then we can decide which to do first.”
Though we were still a little under 60 miles from Hartlepool, we thought there'd be a couple of hours to fool around with. A few minutes later we found a restaurant and parked the car. Once our tea was ordered, I told Concetta that I better call our B&B and give them a hint of when to expect us. The hostess, Jill, answered on the third ring.
“Hi,” I said. “This is Tom Davis. We’re staying with you tonight and I just thought I ring and let you know we’re in York and should see you by late afternoon."
“Tom Davis?” She said. “But you didn’t confirm. You didn’t answer my emails.”
“What emails,” I said. “I have my computer with me. You haven’t sent me any emails. I confirmed with you before I left the US. I shouldn't need to re-confirm.”
“But I've let the room,” she said. “I’ve been emailing you for some time and you haven’t answered back.”
I realized, of course, that she must have forgotten that I gave her both my home and work email and she must have been emailing my work address. Of course, that was no excuse for her since she had not only both emails but my cell phone number as well. She could have called if nothing else. I decided to get tough. “I’m afraid that’s not my problem,” I told her. I made these arrangements in March and confirmed with you in August. You’ll just have to move these latecomers into some other room.”
“But I can’t,” she said, sounding distraught. "The person is handicapped."
Oh fine, I thought, put that guilt trip on me now. There was more to the conversation, but it involved me getting a trifle hot under the collar.
Finally, Jill said, “Well, you'll just have to come here and we'll work something out.”
So, as you might guess, up in smoke went the fun things we planned in York. We couldn’t hang around if we were going to have to scrounge up a different place to stay once we got there and, as I anticipated, not be able to come to some mutually agreeable solution to our (their) problem. Needless to say, the hour-long ride to Hartlepool was a bit tense. All the while we were scouting for roadside signs for B&Bs and/or hotels we might return to if needed.
Well, to make a long story short(ish), once we arrived, though we intended to go nose to nose with the innkeepers if necessary, the couple turned out to be simply charming and had worked out a deal where we could stay in a nearby (and more expensive) B&B for the night while storing our stuff at their place in the interim. They gave us a suitcase to pack what we needed for the night, let us put our car in their private parking lot, and told us we could eat breakfast at either B&B as we chose, come back and use the internet that night if we desired, and generally make ourselves at home. What could we say? We liked them immediately and we felt relieved that everyone would live to fight another day.
And there was one more bonus. Jill pointed out a restaurant where we might get good food just down the waterfront (this is a beachside B&B) from their place. Concetta and I ordered the seafood pie, which turned out to be one of the best meals we’ve had in the UK since we arrived. Wow! Not only that, but this place had “John Smith” ale, which we had discovered in Scotland and was, in our opinion, much better than any of the English ales we had encountered the whole rest of the trip. So, our favorite food, our favorite ale (cold, too!), and a darn nice setting right on the waterfront. Sometimes life just has a way of rewarding you when you have the good sense to make lemonade out of your lemons.
P.S. Just in case I had to do battle with these folks, I got out my Roman battle gear and put it on. As you can see below, thank goodness I didn't need it.
Amen.
Ciao
Tutti.
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