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Saturday 3 June 2000
When's Ground Hog Day? I always thought it was 2 February, but now I'm convinced it's 3 June. This morning, I spoke on the phone to my mother, brushed my hair, went into Brampton for a while, then came back. Then, I spoke on the phone to my mother, brushed my hair, went into Brampton for a while, then came back. And then! I spoke on the phone to my mother, brushed my hair, went into Brampton for a while, then came back! Admittedly, these trips weren't simply for the sake of having something to write about, since it's customary for me to stay away from Brampton at all costs. Today, however, it was a necessity. First I went to the travel agent's to find out about getting to Canada and the USA, since I'm planning to visit both this summer. When I had the details, I went home to ask Mum's advice. She told me to check my bank balance, which involved going to the nearest cash machine. But after I'd told her the joyous news, I had to phone the travel agents, who needed me to bring a cheque to them as soon as possible. However! My trip is booked! Between 18 July and 20 August, I will be in Port Colborne (near Toronto) visiting my online friend Sarah Yoj, and in Portland (Oregon) visiting my online friend Twi! Yoj! Are there any soap operas set in travel agents'? There's those that revolve around in police stations, hospitals, law courts and schools, but I can't think of any about travel agents' off hand. But the potential for drama is there. I live in a v. boring place, yet during my first session in one today, two other customers came in. One said, "I booked a honeymoon to Paris but the relationship's collapsed" (only to be told he couldn't get a refund) and the other announced, "I want to run away." Monday 26 June 2000 My working life came to an end on Friday (for a few years anyway), and tomorrow, I am setting off to Austria, for a two-week holiday with my parents. (Noj refused to come.) At about nine thirty tonight, Will came round to say goodbye. (Awwww.) After a chat, making a rather mad video, and searching the Internet for the lyrics to "Never Ever" (Will and I, correctly, thought one line was "I will roam", but a couple of people we know thought it was "I will run" and "I will rub" [?!]), he declared he had to go. However, I couldn't bear for him to leave (double awwwww), so I got in his car. He took me to the end of the road so he could turn round, then stopped back at my house. I'd left the front door open, but I knew that if I got out to shut it, he'd drive off without me. So I didn't, and he took me to the edge of the housing estate. I expected him to deposit me there (which wouldn't have been funny - I wasn't wearing any shoes), but he said, "Let's go and see the Beverly Hills of Brampton." I started to regret this when he stopped the car in the middle of the road a few times, in order to think, but when he suggested we went to see Naworth Castle (where I used to live), I agreed. So we travelled three miles to see it, before deciding to take the scenic route back to Brampton, via Lanercost. However, when we got to Lanercost, Will said, "Let's have a look at it." So we drove past the church and the house that once belonged to someone who owned a helicopter and to my primary school. This would have been a suitable place to turn around (we had to do a six-point turn, as it was - how forty cars use that school drive a day, I can't imagine), but when I said there were a few more houses to be seen, we drove on. And on. And on. After following a twisty one-lane wide road for about fifteen minutes, we finally found ourselves back on the road to Brampton. But when we got to Brampton, Will complained that he hadn't seen much of the bypass . . . so we drove all the way through the town, and back along a bit of bypass, then back into the town centre, where we waved at a load of strangers, and finally back to my house. Which took forty-five minutes in total. My parents were not thrilled at my disappearance (apart from anything, I was supposed to be packing), and AevilSteve, who'd tried to phone, was even less so. But hey, it was fun! Wednesday 28 June 2000 Because our flight left from Manchester airport very early this morning, we spent last night in Manchester. On the way to the Travel Inn, I learnt that Manchester is nought but a cheap rip-off of London. Having an Oxford Street could be counted as coincidence, but a Picadilly and a Pall Mall too? I think not! Once in Austria, breaking a habit of a lifetime, we found our way to the hotel without too much trouble, passing enormous, wooded mountains, turquoise rivers, road signs saying "Camping Hell" and "Trendy DJ Night" (argh!) and many many Spars. (Convenience stores.) Apart from Brampton, which has a Spar for every 1700 residents, it must be the most densely Sparred area in the world. It even has special Spars called "Eurospar" and "Interspar".) The hotel is mostly groovig, except I've got the Austrian equivalent of the Irish funfair: perpetual accordion music accompanied by yodelling emanating the nearest restaurant. Thursday 29 June 2000 Today, we travelled to Innsbruck, where I spent two hours with my online friend Sae, who lives there. She showed me all the major landmarks: her old school, the club she goes to, The House With The Golden Roof Which Isn't Gold At all, and The Park With The Phallic Symbol:  Well, maybe not, but hey, I am in Freud country now! I later discovered that I had luckily avoided the main attraction of any city, as far as my parents are concerned: the cathedral, or, if no cathedral exists, the largest church. I am being haunted by school trips. On Monday, I saw some kids from the local school on a Geography trip to central Brampton, saying, "Oh, there's two Spars!" (Very observant.) On Tuesday, I saw some more in Manchester. And today, a trail of young people wearing red and black crossed the park, and shortly later, a group of ununiformed but definitely teenage people invaded. Minis are also haunting me. I haven't seen a single one, but there's a souvenir shop in Mayrhofen that calls itself a mini-shop, in Spar there's breakfast cereal called Apple-Minis and Cini-Minis, and they don't sell mini Bounty Bars - oh no! - but Bounty minis. Other sights seen? A very poorly attended wedding (a bride, a bridesmaid, a photographer and a car with a ribbon tied to the aerial were the only guests) and a rack of postcards. No surprise in the second, except for some of those on display, which showed exotic animals. Although Sae claims there are parrots in Innsbruck, I have my doubts about the presence of penguins, pandas and tigers. It always surprises me to find that towns are named after rivers. Learning of the river Cam had this effect on me, although now I know of it, it seems obvious: Cambridge: the bridge over the Cam. But learning of the River Inn (sounds like a hotel, doesn't it?) was a surprise too, even though that should have definitely have occurred to me earlier. Now I'm trying to think of other place names that may be based on rivers. Liverpool - the pool of the River Liver? Friday 30 June 2000 Sandwiches consumed 14, nice sandwiches consumed 0, miles walked 7 (vg), blisters on feet 4, hours since last used Internet 83, seconds to do last calculation 12 (bad), consecutive listenings to "The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle", 6. (Drowns out jealousy-inspiring thwack of tennis balls, v. loud woman with mobile phone staying in neighbouring building, and small boy in toy electric BP van which is far louder than planes at Manchester airport.) Back is never going to be same again. Bed will get done for manslaughter. Have two feathery pillows and big squidgy quilt, but head rest makes wall of nails look comfortable option. Naff photo time! It's the head rest! It looks pretty, but can you lean against it? Is the Pope Muslim?
 Sorry about opening. Have finished "Last Chance Saloon", "England's Dreaming" and "Man and Boy" so am now reading the sequel to "Bridget Jones's Diary", "The Edge Of Reason". Am perfect saint-style person but English has gone up creek.
(Note to self: read more slowly or spend evenings pulling at discos - after all, foreign bodies might Today, something dreadful happened. My parents dragged me into the town centre to buy . . . anoraks! Naturally, I claimed anoraksia nervosa, but was forced to become the ashamed owner of a navy blue one (they didn't have any in black). How lacking in foresight are my parents? At home we have a cupboard under the stairs full of anoraks, walking boots and rucksacks, a kitchen cupboard filled with water bottles, and a drawer full of bottle openers. And what did the rest of the shopping mission yield? A pair of walking boots, a rucksack, a water container and a bottle opener. Surely it must have crossed their minds that we might need these things when we went away? Apparently not. The rest of the day was given over to going for a walk. "By a lake," Dad told me beforehand, since I'm always suspicious of this particular four-letter word. But the presence of a lake assured me it would be relatively flat, so I went along. Right. It was a very nice lake, with turquoise water, something you only see in times of chemical spillage when in England. However, the walk we went on was two hours long, according to all the sign posts. And it sort of left the lakeside after the first five minutes, then turned into a forever-ascending slope. To its credit, it was all along tarmac, but blimey, it made Encyclopaedia Brittanica look short. Not that two hours is such a bad length of time, but half way though, the map indicated we'd ascend three hundred metres before reaching our destination. I don't like travelling three hundred metres horizontally on sunny days, never mind vertically (unless in a plane) and naturally, this took somewhat longer than the time predicted by the signs. When we reached our destination, we had fifteen minutes before the minibus would take us back to the car park, so we ordered much-needed drinks from the café type place. But the water was fizzy. And I hate and am unable to consume fizzy water! However, sadly for you, I lived to tell the tale.
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