For all of you with nothing to do at the moment, take time to read about my antics with Jilly Geary today. Ive sent it as a PM to some of you. I don;t know why, its probably because Ive just learned how to to it .... A Journey of a Million Steps Starts with a Single Mile ….. old Buddhist saying In which Shoshannah and Jilly tackle parking in Dundee, singing bowls are heard, British Home Stores is explored and eventually Peace and Happiness are found outside the Martial Arts Centre. Sundays are traditionally put aside for relaxation, contemplation, dedication or possibly even embarkation. Ours has been fully of vibrations, relocation, palpitations, selective information and, as I write this, intoxication. It was my own fault. I admit it. I should have let Kev pick us up at Camperdown Park and drop us near McDonalds, and then pick us up again at 2.30pm. I assumed we were grown up enough to manage parking. I was wrong; so very wrong. We had looked at Google Maps the night before. It was easy. We wouldn’t need to go into the multi-storey, and get dizzy going round and round. It was a Sunday. There would be plenty of on-street parking, and the roads were clearly marked … on the map … We had one stab at finding Reform Street, where the Buddhist Centre is (after all it couldn’t be that difficult to find, it had a bloody great museum at one end), and ended up in the car park of the Dundee Science Centre by the riverside. At least it was a museum – just the wrong one. We doubled back towards the Dunhope roundabout, and swung a right towards the University. We kept going until we turned right again. That was our second mistake. You might, at this point, ask yourself what sort of an idiot takes a right turn into a no-right turn road with a police van behind them. It was something I’d never done before so I thought I’d give it a try. The police were very nice. They asked where we trying to go (not without a hint of sarcasm I thought), and explained where we were going wrong. Then they got back in their van and drove off – laughing. We took several more lefts and rights, parked, and set off towards the town. By this time it was quite a way away. We went down steps, though an underpass where an itinerant busker was just about to set up, across a few roads, and, eventually, spied the McManus Gallery. The correct museum this time! Who would have thought Dundee would have more than one place of culture? There was then a short interlude consisting of Costa Coffee (not as nice as the Dalmore’s), singing bowls and a sound bath. At 1.30 we headed back to the car, or at least in the general direction. Well, we were going east … sort of… We climbed a hill and walked for about half a mile before we realised that nothing seemed familiar (by that time I was even beginning to doubt who WE were). It was about that time we realised it might have been a good idea to note down the name of the road the car was parked on. All I could remember was that I had parked near a bus stop, and Jilly remembered some steps and an underpass with out-of-date posters. I wasn’t even sure we hadn’t left the car in Arbroath. Turning back, we cut through the Wellgate Centre. Mistake number three. We got lost. I went into it once in the mid-90s, but it was crowded so I kept my eyes shut. We found escalators, and a sign saying BHS. Something familiar - we were overjoyed. Mistake number four. We had assumed, wrongly of course, that this upstanding British institution would have a door to the outside world. Let me inform you, ladies and gentlemen, it has no such thing! It is overflowing with shelving, piled high with every possible interior item you could ever want, but it doesn’t have a door! We staggered out into the ambience of the Wellgate again… The shopping centre designers seem to assume you know where you’re going. They don’t take into account that people from ‘the country’ might venture in. They presume we all buy on-line and pay £20 delivery charges for being in the Highlands! Sorry, I’ll get off my high horse. Indeed getting the Chinese out of Tibet would be easier than getting out of the Wellgate Shopping Centre. The only marked exits in the place are emergency fire exits, and by that time I was seriously contemplating ringing the fire bell. At least we could follow the crowd. Only the thought of a second encounter with the laughing police stopped me. Eventually, we realised that a lot of people were all walking towards us, so we battled against the flow and flung ourselves into the fresh Angus air. Realization struck! Jilly recognised a blue building, and I a wedding dress shop (not that I need one). At this point she produced a banana and had a snack to keep her strength up. I wished I had a bar of Kendal Mint Cake. Music! The itinerated busker!! I gave him a pound because I was so pleased to see him (I would have kissed him, but I didn’t know where he’d been). Jilly was ecstatic at the sight of the old posters. We climbed the steps. The bus stop! And there was Zelda, parked right outside the Martial Arts Centre, where I knew she would be. So, you will be pleased to know, we were not destined to leave our loved ones behind and wander the streets of Dundee for the rest of eternity. No ghostly figures would appear in British Home Stores on summer nights searching for a non-existent door, only to fade into the twilight to the lingering sound of a hand-beaten bowl. We arrived home, safe and sound, to a Paracetamol for Jilly and a large whisky and soda for me, and a dog that has the hump. Oh, I forgot, the bowls weren’t the only things to fill our souls with sound … there was that b*****d on a jet-powered motorbike who drove past my open car window and scared the bejeezers out of the pair of us! PS – the singing bowls were a beautiful experience, never to be forgotten.
Posted on: Sun, 18 May 2014 15:43:51 +0000
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