Abandoning Paradise

Chapter Five     Crossing England

Young Man in the Travelodge in Stafford

There's a very helpful and personable young man at the desk here at the Travelodge in Stafford, England, and we talked for some while about living and roaming about.  He had recently visited the Dominican Republic and found the same as what I was saying about Greece, that the people have a quite different attitude toward living and these are places one would never want to leave.

He came up with a good idea about contacting a newspaper or radio station in Edinburgh as he thinks the story of the scoot from Greece to go home could be inspirational to people.  I love the idea that it could be inspirational and a bit of grandstanding would make my ol' Dad proud too.

As with all of the people I have met along the way, the young man was quite surprised when I asked to take his picture as in why would you want a picture of me.  The answer is the same as with everyone else that he is real in a world of full of things that seem real but are not.

So I will take his suggestion and contact a newspaper in Edinburgh to let them know of this saga and, who knows, perhaps they will pick up the story.  Thank you, young man, and I hope you find the paradise in your life, wherever it may be, and next time you do not have to leave.

As to the picture, that is not a beach tan, my little cherubs.  That's an advanced scooter tan and it stops at the shirt lines.  It may seem from the picture that I don't wear a helmet but that's not true.  I have been wearing my kranos (Greek for helmet) for every millimeter of this ride and perhaps it made a difference in the crash in Nice as that was a good little bang.

Update:

There, I did it.  I have just sent an email to a newspaper in Edinburgh and we shall see what comes of that.  More to come.

English Breakfast - Oh, the Humanity

Where the Greeks are the best in eating food that won't kill you by morning, it seems the English are the worst.  If by some miracle the evening's repast doesn't kill you then you have an excellent shot at it with breakfast.

Take a look at the beauty of a Traditional English Breakfast here.  Big sausages and bacon with an egg and hash browns, beans and a fried tomato.  Yikes.

England has adopted all of the horrors of American eating as well.  Burger King is here and they don't serve a breakfast menu.  Instead there were people ordering Whoppers and french fries at nine in the morning.  I've also seen Kentucky Fried Chicken and MacDonald's and, just to ensure you have no hope of survival, there's Krispy Kreme donuts.  All the rubbish that made Americans as big as delivery trucks is here for your nutritional nightmare and I see it is working here as well.

My own nutritional nightmare comes over me as what if there's a Taco Bell in Scotland. What would those crazy Scots put in it. I may not eat anything up there and instead live solely on Pepsi and cigarettes.

Oh Dear, It's Only a Bentley

There is that horrendous breakfast (I did not eat one) but there are other things classically English as well and one of those is the Bentley.  I gather it's ever so fashionable when someone buys a Bentley to sniff when observing it's not a Rolls and say, "Oh dear, it's only a Bentley."

Tip: the difference in price between a Rolls and a Bentley could be measured in pocket change. Both have always been very high-end automobiles.

Don't be deceived by the attitude.  The Bentley GT Continental Speed will do zero to one hundred kph in 4.2 seconds.  It will do zero to one hundred and sixty kph in 9.0 seconds.  They build luxury cars, of course, but the GT Continental has a twelve-cylinder motor and it serves luxury and high-performance at the same time.

I have no idea of the year of this one (probably nineteen thirties) but it was out in the parking lot.

Perhaps the car has just been purchased and the new owner will remove the name painted on the side of it.  Hopefully it will even be driven as it's a shame that such a magnificent touring car faces a future much the same as unearthed dinosaur bones and '59 Les Pauls.

Bob Forstner is the name and he is a dealer in very high-priced automobiles so perhaps the vehicle really will be sold to be driven.  Good luck to you, lady.

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In Stafford on the Way Left

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