I’d been gone a little over half and hour, supposedly heading back towards the coast. Suddenly realising the junction ahead seemed vaguely familiar. Last night’s turn off the highway. Somewhat bemused as to quite how I’d managed to end up heading back on myself, for I was sure I’d not taken a wrong turn.
In truth the navigational error didn’t really matter. For it was still early, and very early at that. Quite literally all day to reach the coast. In theory at least. For I was tired. Desperate to sleep. The previous evening staying with Debbie and Steve, sharing a meal with their friends, had been fantastic fun. But it had been gone midnight before I’d enquired as to when they’d be leaving for work and I’d need to set off. My fault entirely.
As I struggled to get going the next morning, I’d found myself becoming rather envious of Pickles the dog. A friendly chap, he seemed nothing would entice him to drag himself out of bed until a more sociable hour. Finally choosing to put in a brief appearance as I left.
