"Southwest Passage" drabbles by Neville Hunt

Heaven(s)

Southwest Passage #5

Looking from the flat overlooking the harbour pontoon, we thought back to the weekend, our young visitors, the mess they left and what a great time we'd had. We missed them, but a return to school beckoned.

To cheer ourselves up we had a great idea... Devon cream tea and monster icecreams each that evening. (It's funny how everything you consume in Devon finds its way to the waist! OK, OK, diets start next week!)

My homemade strawberry jam, local fruit scones and clotted cream. Our enjoyment was perfect heaven!

The heavens were less heavenly as they opened. Perfectly awful!

At tiller the Hunt

Southwest Passage #4

What appalling weather! Only idiots would go boating in such rain. The first mate was kitted out for a storm; the captain, me, sporting my salt-hardened shorts. Me timbers a-shivered stepping into the cold water (as it turned out, t'was just as well they weren't real timbers, as I might have had to walk the plank!)

I needed to test the first mate's boating skills, so I let her take the helm (well, tiller).

"I've never driven a boat, Captain Baba", she said.

"Oh no!" I cried, "I'd better take over!"

"No Baba, I'm captain now!"

Arrrggh! Mutiny!

Ilminster by moonlight

Southwest Passage #3

The signs on the M25 declared 'A303 closed at Ilminster'

"Isn't that near our hotel?" she asked, worried.

"Yes!" I replied nonchalantly, figuring there were 125 miles to worry about it, so not worrying at all..........

"Ilchester!" she declared triumphantly, "we're there. There's the hotel. Relief!"

"It's the wrong 'il'. Ours is Ilminster."

"Can't be far, though, They sound the same!"

Via the A303, it would've been 14 miles. After 2, though, our route was blocked, completely. No other cars...

By moonlight, diversion signs took us via Yeovil. Our 14 miles to Ilminster became an anxious 30. I became ill!

Route 303

Southwest Passage #2

A night rider often rides alone. The posse waits until dawn before it charges west in pursuit. Riding in the heat of the day is asking for trouble. And when the route is blocked, tempers rage. Things get nasty.

We travelled at night. Where by day the way west would be hard and slow as the road funnels through endless bottlenecks, no bottle's neck would slow our progress. It was surreal, as silhouetted to our right, the mighty Stonehenge seemed mighty small, as twilight brought it down to size.

We sped on, the stones on the plain now just history.

Going to the promised land

Southwest Passage #1

When you've got to go, you want to go without pain, strain or delay. The way of the great warriors.

But these days, in an effort to improve your future life, you suffer the excruciating, helpless agony of delay. Meekly, you are expected to take your medicine. The cure is worse than the condition.

Treated as a child again, you crawl, your movements and freedom limited by big brother. Anybody over 50 will pay a heavy price.

But I had checked out my conditions. 'Go west, old man, speed your way to the promised land. Choose life, choose the A34!'