Yesterday AM I reported to the local car dealership, strolled up to the reception lady, announced my name and that I was booked in for a yearly service and MOT. I respectfully asked if they could please do the same for my car while they took care of me. This was greeted with a soft whooshing sound about a meter above the nice young ladies head so I shut up and moved ever onwards. Sadly, no longer upwards.
Today, in our newly serviced car, which ran in a remarkably similar fashion to wot it did the day before the service, we had a run round the countryside and found ourselves in a beautiful village that I haven’t visited in twenty some years. It’s one of those places that’s a crossover between a village and a market town and a place that, as I remembered it, time had politely passed by.
Sadly, our time has finally arrived there. Gone are the little antique shops. Gone are the country craft shops. Gone are the quaint little curio shops. Gone is the home baked bakers. Gone is the natural ingredient perfumery. All, it seems, replaced with ‘it looks like any other town now.’
That’s wot they’ve lost so wot have they won in place? The usual ‘modern must haves’ of course. The obligatory charity shops. Two bookies. It’s a village for crying out loud!! Two bookies? An all-in-one type convenience store. An all-comers hair and tanning joint and three of they mandatory curry carry-outs.
There was, however, a small measure of saving grace in that, I’m guessing, the local residents must’ve been most vociferous during the planning stages{?} relating to this transition as none of the fine old exterior facades have been altered at all and there was no evidence of gaudy signage what–so-ever, so the high street, despite it’s leap into ‘modernity’, still looks like it’s locked into an eye pleasing time warp.
Quote; Yannick Noah.
“You arrive at a village, and in this calm environment, one starts to hear echo.”
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