Get an arse on, Mary, before he comes round.
Seven gins gives us thirty minutes.
Get the car keys and his wallet and let's scarper.
At University, I had a boyfriend with a family house in Cornwall and an Alfa Romeo. It was a silly relationship, based on drama and mutual disappointment, the sort you can only indulge in when you are young and have the hours to fritter. Blinded by my love for Daphne Du Maurier, I accepted an invitation for a few days in Cornwall.
I did not drive and he thought I should. On the way, we stopped half-way across Bodmin Moor at a deserted airfield, for me to take the wheel of his pride and joy.
More fool him.
After the lesson, which left us both shaking and hissing in inaudible fury, we stopped at Jamaica Inn. It's a low stone building that appears unexpectedly at the side of the road and had, to my imaginative eye, a brooding and ominous air.
It was empty apart from a parrot, a perfect authentic touch. The fog rolled in, the gin glasses emptied, the arguments grew more circular and obtuse and we were forced to stay the night. I thought it would be an adventure.
More fool me.
I didn't sleep a wink. The lightbulb in the bedside lamp flickered on and off; everything creaked or moaned or slammed. I sat up trying to start more debate so I would have company; he snored on. I was probably a fanciful young lady, but I did feel chilled and afraid and was very pleased to leave the next day. We broke up soon after. I still miss that car.
The BBC have just done an adaptation of Jamaica Inn. It has been slated by viewers unable to follow the plot; it is apparently full of indistinct mumbling and bad diction. Reviews are full of irritated complaint at the way the incoherent muttering ruins the storyline and alienates the characters. I remember the feeling well.
When I was young and foolish I dated a lady that I might one day have married, if I'd not accepted that my proclivities lay in another direction. She had recently passed her driving test and had bought a new BMW, which we picked up at the airport on arrival from Hong Kong. It was fairly obvious to me that she needed a bit more practice before I could feel safe and so the proposed drive up to Scotland a couple of days later filled me with dread. It did not help that on the morning of our journey I awoke with a fierce hangover, but because I was terrified of her erratic driving, I decided I would lie doggo in the back seat, so that I could avoid seeing the near misses. Anyway, after stopping for petrol and having a row about her lack of knowledge about the car aswell, (as in how to fill er up), I decided to snatch the keys from her and take over the driving. We were expected at my parents for dinner, but arrived at about 10 pm. The relationship didn't work out for the reasons given, but we remain exceedingly good friends. I'm sure you're glad you asked.
ReplyDeleteThat made me laugh quite a lot. It also made me think of all the chaps who've told me they need a kip and have lain under jackets on the back seat while I drove. Also of those who have suddenly discovered forgotten train tickets or work deadlines and made their own way. All making sense now...
ReplyDeleteI heard people were grumbling about the mumbling. Apparently it was all fixed by Episode 2 last night but I suspect they had lost their audience by then.
ReplyDeleteRight, now I'm over here, I shall purchase your book, dear friend.
Oh thank you! I gave you a smarmy mention....
DeleteOoh yes, have just skipped to the end. Thank you :-)
DeleteGosh, that was a funny story. I never learned to drive (I know shocking isn't it especially as I live in the land of the automobile). I was just thinking to myself the other day that my husband would be such a bore to travel with had I learned to drive and he was my passanger. Nerves would be frazzled and tempers would be hot no doubt.
ReplyDeleteTrue, but you would always be the master of your own destiny. Especially with Satnav.
ReplyDelete<3. So vivid. Your story just usurped the movie, so I probably won't watch:).
ReplyDeleteI don't think you've missed anything. The book is invariably better than most things.
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