Well, Ewan finally found the laptop. Turns out we'd just left it on the table after our last game of charades. Problem facing us now is how to get to Cirencester before the bridges close. I say to myself every year that I won't go, but the prospect of the annual Screwball Scramble Championship always proves to alluring.
Perhaps if I wasn't such a slave to the game I'd be sat at home taking in some Golden Girls repeats while Patters shimmies back and forth to the kitchen with a generous supply of leaks and tea. I've always enjoyed the dusks over Upper Lower Tollwoodford. Ever so dimly bright and full of magic streaming from the local guilds, but alas my current mental intrusion is of one of fevered anticipation and frustration and I fear that another day is lost.
Only Ewan's rendition of 'The Upper Hand' theme is giving me the kazoo fix I need to keep my stress at bay. The rain is letting in far too much sun and the heat is unbearable. The roads all look the same and because of our last pit stop we're hours behind schedule.
It appears a local acting troupe were doing an impromptu performance outside Fat Lenny's Hotdog Stable and the opportunity to take in 'Two Cats and a Twisted Yum Treat' was one I couldn't bring myself to miss and a more riveting performance was never witnessed. The acting was superbly dreadful and hit the exact comedic tone needed for the piece. I even felt myself warming to the character of Stubbins who I've famously hated in all his incarnations but Miss Sissy Jennings did a justice to the part I never knew possible.
After the troupe had gathered up all the applause and packed them away it took us a few hours to get over our artistic high and get the wireless Internet in the butching van back into action. It wouldn't have been too bad had we not got stopped at Riverhill's notorious tollgate.
I've heard stories about frank Frank but his insistence that the van was unsuitable for river crossing because of its colour was frankly absurd. Personally I think the pink is very fetching and Ewan started blubbing when Frank insulted the star mural he'd painted onto the windscreen. Eventually we got round him and if we're lucky he won't sue. I'm counting on it because another lawsuit will really rip into this month's food budget and to be honest I only chanced it because I've heard factual rumours that Frank once had his heart broken by an impressionist who specialised in doing lawyers.
We finally got onto the A999B-6 but had to switch onto the C-roads after a road kill warning flashed up on the radio and we are now currently stuck in traffic somewhere in the countryside with a few hundred sheep and an intoxicated farmer blocking our progress. The man is clearly a champion for the whacky backy but herding livestock is neither the time nor the place for such indulgence. If he doesn't stop dancing to the sounds of my engine I'll soon be forced to run him and his livestock into the sweet British earth. In hindsight the mural may have been a bit of a mistake. Not only has it become the focus of the Farmer's religious beliefs but also my vision is restricted to a narrow three-inch gap that is very much unsuited for the job of a mass cattle annihilation. Still, it looks very fetching and that sense of joy cannot be ignored.
The good news is that the wait has given Ewan the chance to get on the roof and fix the Internet aerial again. The wind keeps blowing leaves into the signal and my driving is taking a lashing while I type this.
Bollocks. The Farmer's amassed a rabble and they are mounting a service in praise of the windshield. If only it could shield me from stupidity and anger, apparently we aren't there yet but I've invested in some promising companies that could well give me my desired technical dominance in the future.
Right, I better skedaddle, a good hit and run needs exceptional concentration. If we are lucky we can get to the Championship on time. It's about 3 o'clock now, which gives us until later to get to Cirencester.
Hold on E I'm going to get us back some time!
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