So having left Oxford train station I headed for the town in search of sustenance. While walking past every oriental food outlet known to man and finding that places of high cuisine such as McD’s and Burger King was full I headed back to the Wig & Pen which is a really nice pub to be honest.
Ordering a strong cup of tea and a burger & chips (This will be a recurring feature by the way) I settled down in a leather chair by the window when suddenly I had a text from my co-conspirator Matthew Copperwaite “Oi baldy, where are you?” (He didn’t really text that but I do like a good laugh) after fumbling around with the on-screen keyboard I gave Matt my location and he couldn’t have been far because literally five minutes later he arrived.
Oggcamp finally begins! Matt, Marie (Matt’s fiancée) and me settle down for a good old chin-wag. Moggers joined us after a little while and with the second round of drinks starting to appear I thought it best to catch the bus to the Travelodge before they all started drunkenly singing the software freedom song!
I waited at the bus stop with some trepidation, you can pretty much guarantee with a bus numbered 300 there’s going to be some knob head hanging out the window shouting “THIS IS SPARTA!” at every bus stop. After asking the driver “This is the bus for the Travelodge pear tree isn’t it?” he replied with a less than encouraging smile “Yes it is, I’ll try to remember to tell you where to get off.” The 300 is a bit like a fast train, it only stops at a few stops, this is important information by the way and in a later post about the night of the curry will be very relevant. So we shot off down the road with pushchairs and big women with bags clinging on for dear life. For a journey that I thought was supposed to be 20 minutes or so but we seemed to arrive at my dropping off point fairly quickly “Here you go mate. You can’t see it very well but the Travelodge is behind them trees over there.” said the bus driver. “How the hell do I get across that four lane Grand Prix track?” I replied. “There’s some traffic lights there you can cross there.” The bus pulled away to an uproar of laughter for some reason?
I walked a couple of yards along the dirt beside the busiest dual carriageway in England and waited at the traffic lights. And I waited, and I waited, and I waited, and I waited, the bastard didn’t mention that the lights only change if someone comes out of the Park & Ride site over the road! And that looked like it had been deserted since the Royalists left town in 1646! Gripping my drag-along case I decided to see if I could give Usain Bolt a run for his money and sprinted to the central reservation where I waited, and waited, you get the picture.
I finally made it to the Travelodge where I met a nice lady on reception who booked me in “Your room is on the first floor, take the stairs over there.” STAIRS? No lift? Does this woman not realise I have just played truck roulette on her towns ridiculous traffic system?
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