What it says on the tin...
‘Advanced
warning this road will be closed…’
A yellow
sign went up on our little road again and although road closure might not be a
good thing, in this case I stood there with some neighbours thinking that it
was a good sign. Could it be that our pot-holed road was going to be renewed
any time now? I had a letter saying that between April and August this year the
surface would be renewed (better than filling potholes the letter said). We
were full of hope.
But soon
the notice was removed without any closure nor any improvements, and the road
was still full of holes. We left for a bit of a break in Norfolk carefully
dodging the huge open craters. On our adventures we came across another big
road sign.
‘No
boarding without Ferryman’s permission’ it said. When was the last time you
spoke to a ferryman? A ramp dropped and we drove on, along with a motorbike. Chains
pulled us across the river Yare to the other side. It seemed so old fashioned,
but it saved us a thirty-mile round trip. We had to pay with cash.
‘Much simpler,’ said the ferryman.
Mind
you when we went on the M6 Toll Road it was much simpler to pay with my mobile,
I think that there was only one exit taking cash. Then when we went for
refreshments for a quick smack, it was easy to punch our order into the
computer and pay cashless rather than stand in a queue to speak to someone who
would take our order. The old and the new juggle alongside each other.
We
stayed in a ‘cabin’ in a field where the owners were ‘rewilding’. There was
extensive tree planting and wildflowers thriving looking like white clouds in
blue skies. The ox eye daisies were a picture dotted occasionally with blue bugloss
and sometimes there were poppies and yellow mullein. Mind you our truly wild
fields here at home show no such colour. They are full of different small
grasses, forms of dock (called sour Sally in Shropshire) and hay rattle. Packets
of wildflower seeds will not make a meadow. The flowers I may remember from my
childhood would probably have grown around the margins of the fields and along
paths where the soil is often disturbed. The ‘real’ wild meadows are perhaps
not as colourful as we like to think.
Then
back at home another illusion seems to be shattered. The big potholes are still
here, there is still no sign of our road being re-surfaced, but there is a
development. The huge crater-like holes have been outlined with white paint.
Is
something about to happen?
(Taken from my column in the Shropshire Star)
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