IT'S TIME FOR ADVICE
With his tongue firmly in his cheek, Les gives graham some heartfelt advice...
Reading the November Issue of the Village Pump I came across a letter from Graham Forster who in effect concluded his letter by asking for advice and who can ignore anyone at their time of need?
After careful thought I have come to the conclusion that many years ago Graham fell in love. It so happened, in my view that it was with motor cars. I too fell in love years ago but fortunately not with a motor car. After all, as Graham was about to discover, you had to leave a car over night in a garage. I was able to make, in my case, alternative arrangements.
Eventually Graham decided he could hardly leave his car in the garage all the time. They were not built for that, but for transporting such as himself from A to B hopefully at great speed, and the day eventually arrived when it was time to take to the road. This in itself would not have been a problem had it not been for the fact that so many thousands of Graham's fellow motorists had exactly the same idea.
His decision to travel in the direction of Scotland seemed reasonable, unless of course he was hoping to watch the rugby as Cardiff Arms Park, in which case contact with the A.A. appeared to have been advisable. It was during these trips to Scotland that it would seem that some chinks started to appear in his love life. He was frequently heard to mention to his many friends that these journeys were beginning to build up in him, what he called an "instinctive loathing" and he considered, again to use his own words, that "life was becoming untenable"
If only he knew the fate that was to befall him in the years to come. Graham had made the decision, mystifying his many friends, to move to darkest Norfolk, a County so backward that just about everyone living there spent their time watching Roy Rogers films. Not only that but no one had ever heard of dual carriageways! You saw one or two in Roy Rogers films but that was that.
And so it came to pass that on one fateful day Graham found himself departing from the large, well large by Norfolk standards, town of Diss, travelling back to his home village of Stoke Ferry; a village first described by a visiting Derbyshire author, A.T.Chesterfield, who wrote in 1836 that Stoke Ferry possessed the finest panoramic views of the Norfolk Fens that he had ever seen. Later of course Grampian Foods appeared on the scene and in one foul swoop obliterated 99% of them, but that of course was another story.
Graham was only a mile or so along the road when he came across something that was to impede his journey all the way back home, a fellow motorist, towing a caravan, and travelling at a speed that even Roy Rogers would have exceeded on his horse Trigger. Finally Graham arrived safely back home, shaken but not stirred but in such an irate condition that he was compelled at once to put pen to paper, seeking advice from the intellectual readers of his village magazine, hence my interest.
My considered advice to Graham Forster is to retire the love of his life to the garage where it belongs. Travel, as indeed I do, by bus to King's Lynn, purchase all the Video's of Roy Rogers that he can lay his hands on. He should call in at the Globe Hotel, as again I do, purchase a pint of their best ale, and a packet of crisps, read the Eastern Daily Press, and then as you occasionally look up don't be surprised if the delectable Miss Jones walks by thereby making your day one to remember.
If by some chance that advice doesn't appeal then I suggest Graham can turn his attention to something which is gaining immense popularity in Norfolk at this moment, Mountaineering.