Road trip

The first rule of Road Trip is: you don't talk about road trip. 

The second rule of Road Trip is: you don't talk about road trip.

The third rule of Road Trip is: If someone yells stop! wait - I need to look at that old decaying building, the car stops, and the edifice/other psychogeographic element must be observed/explored.

The fourth rule of road trip is: two people to a road trip - this can be altered but two is preferable.

The fifth rule of road trip is: one road trip at a time, people. 

The sixth rule: No shirts, no shoes. Actually, weather depending, shoes are useful, and as many layers as required can be added.

The seventh rule: Road trips will go on as long as they have to . . . probably curtailed naturally by running out of petrol, and or other pressing life commitments.

The eight and final rule of road trip is: If this is your first day on road trip, you have to do road trip.

(After Brad Pitt's inaugural Fight Club speech) 

I'd add another rule involving regular snack-stops. 

Ezra (son) and I have enjoyed many road trips over the years - not necessarily miles away (got to think of the carbon tyre print, after all). Often they have been inspired by a town with an odd name, or a disused mine/train station/other places that would not appear in a guide book. 

Yesterday a drear day of grey announced itself we decided on a trip to Durtal, with some cross country wandering before reaching the town itself. I turned the ignition key and stated the first two rules, after which we drove to Saumur and Vivy to look at abandoned train lines, then to Longue Jumelles to drink hot chocolate in a village bar - where I got sat on by a very insistent and warm ginger cat.

seemingly abandoned chateau with distinct horror movie potential

Cross country to Durtal via villages with intriguing names such as 'Huillé (Oily) and quickly tracked down a pizza restaurant run by two Afghans. The food was wonderful and fuelled us for a good slope around the town which was enveloped in grey fogginess, temperature hovering around 2 degrees. Durtal has a beautiful sandstone chateau, which would certainly feature in any normal guide book as well as many once-prestigious buildings which speak of a town which had in the past grown wealthy on its tannery businesses thanks to Le Loir river.

       Durtal chateau and church

The cold was sinking into our bones, and the not overly-abundant daylight was fading fast. Thoughts of wood stove/tea and cake rather abruptly ceased the road trip, but it was as ever an excellent day, the hours, very memorable.

cat-shaped space

Bronzino has been with us about fourteen years after someone said did we want a ginger tom kitten.
Good timing as our small runty cat, (Scrabs) had been stolen by someone passing by in a car, according to our neighbours of the time  - odd (and sad) as he really was runty.
We went to see Bronzino (who was living in a car at the time as the person had twenty or so cats in their house) and decided he would fit into our lives just fine.
And he did fit in; a perfect feline, really. Not too clingy, but happy to occupy a lap in front of the fire in winter. He caught mice, rats and rabbits, and, as if having listened to us, not too many birds.
He had his territory, would see off other cats, and would follow us (pack of assorted humans and dogs) down the road until his self-appointed patch ended and would yowl plaintively as if warning of dangers ahead to be encountered while visiting the bread shop, chemist or whatever.
I never had to take him to the vet and he was a good solid specimen of feline-ness until recent weeks when something happened internally and he shrunk into ultra old age causing Mark to finally take him to the for-mentioned place.
I will eradicate those final few weeks from my mind and think of him as the ginger king of the garden that he was.