Day 53: Garden of England

The Garden of England

Round the M25 to Kent - slowing to a standstill where the Dartford Crossing conjoins the twin evils of Lakeside and Bluewater.   Progress is painfully slow but I have time to admire the incongruency between the 'Welcome to Kent, The Garden of England' sign and the vista beyond it.   (Reminds me of the German exchange student visiting my school who observed (accurately and with frighteningly good English) that 'If Kent is the Garden of England, Maidstone is the compost heap.'   Actually I'd give that honour to Chatham or Gravesend, but that's a technicality that shouldn't detract from the Wildean brilliance of the comment.)

I entertain myself playing radio station roulette.   Pick a random station.   Listen to whatever song is playing and find its relevance to your situation.   This may need some lateral decoding, but persist.   The harder you have to work, the more valuable the guidance or insight.   Whether it's a memory, something in the lyrics or style, receive it as a deliberate message.   As soon as the song is ended - and you must wait until it's ended - change the station.   Repeat until you have a sense of clarity about your situation and/or the traffic clears.   (When you get home, arrange all your shoes like a letter T under your bed and turn all spoons in the house to face north with their bowl ends.   Don't forget to wash your hands ten times first.)

Things improve once I shake the shoppers and get onto the M20.   I'd forgotten how much fun it is to drive down Wrotham Hill.   Economical and ecologically friendly too.   No accelerator needed.   Free speed, man.   10/10 - excellent.

Back to my roots.  Through the mean streets of Maidstone, the nearest local town/compost heap to where I grew up.  Distracted by nostalgia I kerb my car like a twat.  None of the nearby pedestrians blink an eyelid.  That's Maidstone driving for you.  To my mother's house, to discover that my twattish driving has cost me an Alfa Romeo hubcap, and a badly bent rim.  Wrotham Hill coasting fun is forgotten as I start calculating the potential cost in garage fees (and interim risk).  Ouch.  0/10 - very bad.

Arrive at my mother's, where the Cushion of Contrition is received - fairly well. A slow start, with only mildly negative overtones, warming to a generally positive outlook.   6.5/10 - shows promise, could do better with application. 

"Oh, what can it mean to a daydream believer and a homecoming queen?"