I.A.M. Musing About…

So, yes, finally, here’s the first twelve hours or so of my trip. More will be covered… when I either get around to it or when the images are up-loaded to the server from the laptop in Spain, whichever comes last (both have to have taken place, you see).

Jennifer drove me to the airport, where I checked in and surrendered my luggage to the gaping maw in the wall behind the desk. We went to a little place in the Food Fair (indicative of the quality of consumables, not the activities there) and had an oddly reasonably priced Greek Salad at a place called Opa! run by Koreans. Silly me, I hadn’t realised that Opa! was a franchise… unless Greece has a huge Korean community of which we were previously un-aware…?

When I left Vancouver it was September the 14^th at around 8:00pm. It was a nice day and looked to be a cloudless evening during sunset.

Later I was to learn that Jennifer had already replaced me with a dinner of perogies followed by mint chocolate ice cream. Nice to know what one is equivalent to: starch and fatty dairy foods.

Whilst travelling on the plane (sorry, no images of the plane… yet) I had a wonderful chat with my seat-mates as they returned to their home, and I travelled to the UK for the first time. I remember some sort of discussion about how Tony Blair was a massive waste of space and was well out of it now.

I watched two movies, neither of which I can remember the names of now. The latest Harry Potter and the new Casino Royale seem likely, but one of those might have been on the way back. Actually, I’m pretty sure the Bond film was, because some American sounding lady ahead of me commented disbelievingly on the fact that James Bond was driving a Ford in Bahamas.

The Fords of North America are not seen in the same light as they are in the UK. At all. For those of you in England, imagine James Bond behind the wheel of an Austin Metro. Not pretty, is it?

Speaking of un-attractive things, I ate on the plane a few times. Not sure why. Something about “pasta”, apparently. I didn’t believe it at the time and refuse to believe that now.

And then I arrived at Gatwick in the local early afternoon. I went through Customs considerably too quickly, in my opinion. After being nearly thrown to the ground and striped of my good name before getting onto the plane, perhaps they no longer considered this sleepy-eyed Canuck a threat to the British way-of-life. However, I would have like to have been asked more than how long I was staying, what the purpose of my trip was, and what sort of convention I was to attend. That was all they wanted to know, plus stamping my passport.

As Steve pointed out to me later that day, I was probably being watched on CCTV cameras from my leaving the æoroplane until — and including — standing at the desk. Had I stopped in a corner of the corridors to re-arrange my anally-placed coke stash, I suspect they might have spoken to me a bit more carefully.

And then I went to retrieve my belongings. On the way there the sign to the left presented itself.

I cringed.

For those of you new to us, I have a particularity in that I dislike the word “toilet”. No rational explanation. I just do, damn it.

Yes. Well. I got over that and learned of new exiting things.

Like driving on the M5 during a Saturday afternoon while listening to Radio 2! In a diesel VW Jetta, with about 14,000km on the clock! Air Conditioning! AM/FM/DAB/CD 4-speaker sound! What a delightful experience! Look! See me there? All looks quite pleasant, doesn’t it?

Oddly, I only marginally got lost in the of getting from Gatwick to Steve and Hilary’s place in Stratford-upon-Avon, and all that took was an extra spin around Gatwick’s South Terminal — and past the hire-car’s office again… hello! — and that was all.

And then I left the motorway behind and went onto one of the ancillary roads, and things start getting… well… messier…

As I was driving in the correct lane headed South on Warwick Road (A439) towards Stratford-upon-Avon, a motorcyclist from the on-coming lane pulled out from his place of safety behind two Motor Coaches, accelerated, crossed the double line into my lane, scraped along the off-side of my vehicle (taking the Driver’s wing mirror off). My side curtain air-bags were deployed, blocking my view of anything further. I had no time to take any evasive action. When I got out of my car, I saw him on the roof of the mini-van which had been driving behind me.

And if that text above sounds like an official statement, it’s the text from the accident report I sent to the Insurance Department of the hire company about the accident. Sadly, I have no idea how the cyclist is faring, as the last I saw he was being taken away by attendants to the hospital in an ambulance. He wanted to sit up when he was lying on the roof of the mini-van, though; no-one would let him, but it was a good sign that he was alive. I asked at the Police Station a few days later about him, but they wouldn’t tell me, citing ‘privacy concerns’. I understand that I oughtn’t ask for his mobile number so I can harass his family for all of this, but… I’d like to know if he’s dead!

The one of attending officers all but stated that there is no chance I’ll be found in any way liable for the incident — he couldn’t actually say that, after all — but it’s pretty cut-and-dried. Everyone on the scene couldn’t understand why it had happened, and certainly not why the fellah had even tried it.

Because my hire car was taken in as evidence for the investigation (‘initial point of impact’ and all that), I was now without transport and giving statements for the UK Police files. All in less than four hours of arriving in the country.

However… until they sort out the insurance policy and liability details for the motorcyclist (and whether they’re contacting him or his next-of-kin, I suppose), I get stuck for the £550 deductible for the car damage. Which the company didn’t bother to inform me about in advance. In fact, I didn’t realise it had been charged until I looked at my account statement a week ago.

Which was right after I had finished ordering a bunch of books from some publishers I forgot to patronise while at FantasyCon…

But more on all that later.

So, the Warwickshire Constabulary gave me a lift to The Flat. And it took them a bit of looking to find it, so I’m glad it was their job in the end and not mine.

Steve and Hilary welcomed me with open arms and — thankfully — open hearts as I threw myself on their mercies and we went to dinner at the Shakespeare Hotel Dining Room. They even arranged for the table to be decorated in my honour. I felt a bit of a minor celebrity!

Well, after that afternoon’s events, “infamous” might be more appropriate.

And I certainly made myself known to the staff at at least one shop.

NEXT TIME: Canadian travels 4,800 miles to Stratford, but can’t open door to leave flat!

Tags: A439, accident, England, Gatwick, hire car, M5, motorcycle, VW Jetta, Warwick Road, Warwickshire

This entry was posted on Wednesday, October 24th, 2007 at 10:02 pm and is filed under BLOG-O-RAMA, FantasyCon, Humour, Personal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.