This weekend I went away with my uni gang to the Cotswolds. My friend Kat (far left) moves to Singapore for an indefinite period soon and we all needed a weekend away slopping around in our pyjamas 'til noon, pootling in picturesque villages buying things we didn't really need, breaking casserole dishes we found in the cottage and eating massive pies in country pubs (accompanied by lots of wine) to make us all feel like we'd spent some quality time together before she left.
Now that the Brown Sign Way has truly overtaken my life most of our trips out were dominated by frequent shouts which resulted in screeching halts when anyone saw a brown sign. One such time was when we saw this one pointing to a 17th Century Quaker Meeting house in Nailsworth. It excited me. I was sure it would be a cool crooked little house with information about it presented in a plastic sheet on an A4 piece of paper typed in around 1989 on a typewriter and pinned to the wall with drawing pins (the very best kind of information) so on my insistence we headed up the hill and followed the brown sign. Sadly Lisa's mini with all of us in it was no match for the hill it was on, so I only got a glimpse of the house as we powered on past in 1st gear. The hill was so ridiculously steep that when we finally found ourselves up a dead end with only one way to go (down), the anxiety, sweat and tears exuding from the car was undeniable and there was no asking if I could get out and pay the meeting house a little visit. Instead I sat quietly while we slid slowly backwards with my friends bellowing "left!" "right!" "no left, left!" trying hard to avert nasty ploughage-into-dry-stone-wallage. Well here's another fine mess you've gotten us into brown signs...
