Albion, Life

Squeals on wheels – again

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With the utmost delight, I can report that I have my wheels back on the road and my thanks go out to the universe and all concerned for that… Sounds melodramatic? If I say that I live in a small village, in an area where public transport is… well, rural… and taxi fares expensive, you might begin to get the picture.

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Every time I am grounded, I really feel it. Which is odd, because contrary to my inclinations, I rarely go wandering the countryside without reason. Yet as soon as I can’t go… I need to. The house becomes claustrophobic, the village too small and my feet itch for the pedals. Especially when the weather is perfect for taking photographs…

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And my village, although impressive with its dark, gothic architecture, is not precisely pretty. The village was heavily influenced by the Manor… as, to be fair, most of the villages have been… but while many manorial histories reach back to the Middle Ages and beyond, Waddesdon manor is something of an anomaly… a French château in rural Buckinghamshire.

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So, we are possibly the only village in the area to have not one thatched cottage… on the other hand we do have the Rothschild crest all over the village and a far better infrastructure historically than many. There is a lot to be said for having a palace on your doorstep… especially one filled with art treasures. And especially when we, the villagers, get a free pass to the grounds for Christmas every year.

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But it gets me down, having my wings clipped, whether I choose to use them or not. Just knowing that I could makes all the difference. It is all about that element of choice, I suppose. To have that taken away is rather like feeling shackled and bound. To lose that choice for any reason is just so frustrating. I end up resorting to the photography folders… as if the world outside might change if I don’t keep my eyes on it somehow!

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Not that I mind looking back through the files to see what I’m missing. That kind of torture has its joys when you live in a landscape as beautiful as this. Especially in spring. And looking through the pictures reminds me of wonderful days playing out, both alone and with friends, as well as giving me ideas about where I might go next…

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Picking the car up, finally, I did manage to resist the urge to say, “Hello, old girl, I’ve missed you.” Well, out loud anyway. Last time I greeted her thus, the mechanic couldn’t stop laughing. For ages. Which I thought a tad excessive. He just thought it hilarious…

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The garage is a mere two minutes’ drive from my home. I took the long way… because I could… and, after stopping to allow the buzzard to decide it was better to hop over to the roadside while I passed on the narrow lane than to remain there with the carrion, I put my foot down with a whoop of joy and the hum of the engine sang of freedom…

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