Hockley Heights Gazette

The theme of people not things has been a little controversial, but for the sake of posterity and the unacclaimed preservation of the public critic, we continue. One feature of our time here in the UK has been the absolute refusal of all the locals to provide addresses or sensible directions to parts unknown. It is a cultural taboo to provide an address for someone who asks for a particular locality. God forbid you should actually point out a place on a map! For instance, I have been reduced nearly to tears trying to reason with the local cricket club as I have attempted to ferry half a team of young hopefuls to a match at some far flung ground. The conversations go something like this...
"What is the address of the ground?" I ask
"Well, you go down Runwell Rd to the A130 and turn right," starts one helpful soul.
"That's not the quickest way," chimes another, "you should take the old dairy road."
"I'm trying to make it easy for him!" says the first, "Now, as I was saying, along the A130 you go past where the old dairy used to be."
"Ok" I say, "can you give me the address, because I don't know where the old dairy used to be."
"It's simple," a third contests, "take the A132 to the A127, turn right, go to the Rayleigh Weir. Do you know where the Rayleigh Weir is?"
"Not right, you idiot!" comes one rebuke, "if you turn right you'd be going to London! Turn left at the A127"
"Does this ground have an address?" I say, "because I have a map." I hold out a map. They look aghast.
"Just turn right when you get to the Rayleigh Weir," they say in unison, "then left at the third double roundabout along that road."
"Ok" I say, "What is the name of that road?"
They look at each other.
"You know," says one, "I travel along that road every day on my way to work, but damned if I know the name."
"My wife's mother used to work in a little bakery along that road" says one.
"Which bakery was that?" asks another.
"Do you know where the old Rayleigh South Primary School used to be?" he says.
"Oh yes" the eyes light up.
"I remember playing cricket on the old cow patch behind that school," they laugh, "damned if it wasn't the boggiest cricket ground in all of Essex"
"Ok" I say, "so what is the address of the Primary School?" I am holding the map out, pointing at the page where I am sure the Rayleigh Weir is located.
"Just follow me," says the assistant coach, "I'm taking the other half of the team"
At the A130, he turns down what I can only assume is the old dairy road. He is 10 car lengths ahead and I lose him. We travel down the A130 and, after 10 mobile phone calls to anyone in the cricket club with a mobile phone, we find the ground. We are 20 minutes late. With no warm-up, the lads bounce out of the car and straight into the game. I am the subject of much ungentle ribbing about Australians, my clearly criminal ancestry, the 2005 ashes series (no mention of the most recent debacle), and my inability to follow not only simple instructions, but also an assistant coach and another car load full of young cricketers. I sigh, because I know that next week the stage is set for the same play. After all, it is the unchanging nature of this place that gives it it's charm, no?

Today's pic is from last Sundays visit to Norwich. What a great town! We dropped in at the castle, St. Peter Mancroft Church, and then the wonderful Norwich Cathedral. We loved the markets and the great vibe of the town - such a nice day out, highly recommended. To get there you simply go on the A132 to the A127 and turn left, then follow the road to Southend until you meet the A130. Turn left again and go past the old dairy...aaagggghhhh!