Token Effort

21 Apr

Sorry to my huge dedicated readership for the long delay in blogging. Let me make it up to you with a report from a delightful almost-recent road trip.

One evening in the Family Home, we were browsing Google maps for stupid place names and were quite delighted to discover that we live a mere hour from:

Ready Token.

I mean, really? So, off we went the next fine Saturday, with high hopes and a bottle of wine in an actual wicker picnic basket.

It wasn’t sunny.

Now, I know that using GPS on a road trip defeats the whole point of getting lost, hungry and despairing of life… but when the destination is an hour away, it’s probably okay. And anyway, the GPS didn’t help.

“You have reached your destination,” it declared. Halfway down a road to nowhere. Any signs? No. Houses? No. One miscellaneous building. Were we in Ready Token? Who’s to say?

We carried on towards what looked like greater civilisation, but the combined wisdom of two GPSes and a map indicated quite strongly that we really must have been in Ready Token before, halfway down that road of nothing.

We got out. There was nothing to see.

Then, finally, we found something. Some sort of manor house or estate with the words ‘Ready Token’ carved into the gateway.

So. This was it, then.

It started to get quite chilly. But you know what, we had driven for an hour to have a picnic in Ready Token, so that is what we did. On the grass verge at the side of the road outside the big house. We wondered if somebody might call the police.

Well, once we’d finished the picnic, we decided to leave. I’ve gotta tell you, there’s not a whole lot more to do in Ready Token. You can stare at some trees, I guess. Or walk down a long, dull B road. But we were too easily bored.

The best moment came as we were getting back into the car. A lone cyclist came pedalling up the deserted road. We glanced at each other. Then did a double take. Then she stopped and came back. Yes, it was one of our friends from Oxford.

“Is this Ready Token? Oh good!” She was cycling back to her hometown. It has to be said, we didn’t really expect to bump into anyone we knew in Gloucestershire’s most obscure (possibly non-existent) village.

“And what are you guys doing here?” We tried to explain that we had purposely driven for an hour to have a picnic in Ready Token, but I’m not sure she quite understood.

Oh, and we didn’t go straight home. Later on, we bought a commemorative thimble from a trout farm.


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