I’ve lost the power cable to my cheap Michelin Sat Nav and someone seems to have stolen my 1996 A-Z. For the first time in many years I am having to get around London using nothing but street signs and common sense. It’s actually quite a challenge, especially as I’m a North London girl who rarely crosses the river. Last night I was invited to an event in Clapham. Setting off from Holland Park, I pointed myself South and just kept going. I figured that as long as I got to a bridge somewhere near Chelsea, I would be OK.
Everything was going along fine until I crossed Battersea Bridge. Then I spotted a sign to Clapham Junction. All good. Ten minutes later and the street signs seemed to disappear. I pulled up to a set of traffic lights. A good looking guy was in the car next to mine and his window was open. I rolled down the window and did something I haven’t done for year; I asked directions.
‘I think it’s right,’ he said.
‘Are you sure?’ I said.
‘I’m pretty sure,’ he said.
The light turned green, I turned right and a few minutes later I was at Clapham Junction. From there, I took a wrong left turn, had to make a U-turn and doubleback down Lavender Hill. I was at the event a few minutes later, feeling incredibly proud of myself for relying completely on my knowledge of London streets and not on a sat nav or a roadmap. I wondered if I’d actually saved myself time as I recalled that my sat nav has an annoying tendency to take me to the wrong street or via some crazy route that manages to hit every traffic jam in London. The A-Z was pretty useless too and a health hazard. Missing pages, out-of-date and hard to read, it was a wonder I never had an accident trying to drive with it on my lap. Plus, and the best part of all, I got to chat to a sexy guy at a stop light. Now, that was fun!
May 16, 2008 at 12:54 am
The man thing about “not asking for directions”, I don’t have. I don’t have a sat nav. I have a Mondeo. Incidentally, I am about to launch a website for people who have bought a Mondeo for £500 or less and plan to drive it into the ground. Sort of mad max mild.
The trouble is, when I ask for directions, I choose someone, usually an auld fella, and he immediately pegs me as a bloke who “asks for directions” and launches into an incredibly detailed 72-item itinerary, and at the first “left at the roundabout” I’m looking at him and thinking about the war. It gets me nowhere. Literally.
Get people to visit YOU – that’s the trick!