Wednesday, 30 September 2009

Day 21: Wenatchee, WA – Larrington Towers

The other nice thing about Best Westerns is that their breakfasts are superior to most other places, though the appearance of the sausages leaves something to be desired.  Like a lack of resemblance to the turds of an unwell dog.

Back along US-2 for a while, then south on US-97 to Ellensburg and the interstate south to Yakima. 

Finally I picked up my old friend US-12 towards Mount Rainier.  Mistake.  Roadworks, and hills which reduced the heavies to 25 mph, and a cock in a motorhome who wouldn’t pull over even when he had a huge queueueueue behind him, which in this state is against the la.  I finally escaped into Mount Rainier National Park, and told the TwatNav to find me the Alamo Rental Return place.

After flogging through heavy traffic in Enumclaw and Auburn, I was gnawing nervously at the steering wheel, not wishing to be late and pay heavily for the privet hedge, but no matter, the TwatNav will see me right, yes?

For the second year running, no, it bloody well won’t.  172nd street is a dead end, between a car park and a petrol station, you stupid sodding machine!  Finally I told it to find the airport, which it managed successfully, and followed the signs.

I am currently drinking beer airside as there is naff-all to do on the other side of the Iron Curtain, and I don’t feel like smoking as I have a horrible suspicion that I am coming down with a clod.  By the time this reaches the Automatic Diary, I will know for sure, as there is no obvious method of accessing teh Intarwebs from in here.  Later, Automatic Diary fans…

You know how on an aeroplane, if you’re sitting next to the window, you can lean your weary head against the side of the fuselage in order to go a-kip more easily?  Well, the combination of a Boeing 747 and BA’s World Traveller Plus seating leaves about twelve inches of fresh air ‘twixt seat and wall, so you can’t, so my neck aches.

Hello London!  OK, so the Thiefrow Express may be the world’s most expensive rail journey in terms of cost per mile, but it’s fast and you get a seat.  Now the Circle Line, on the other hand…  And to make matters worse, the entire Victoria Line is fscked.  Engineering works.  Bus from Manor House it is, then.

Larrington Towers, happily, has not burned down or been burgled, and nor has my motor-car which, if it had a name (which it hasn’t) would be called Kate.  Watch qualibobs for the Singapore GP, buy beer & Chicken Tikka Mirchi Wala, fall asleep repeatedly.  The end.

For now.

Thought for the day:  It would be nice to report that DJ Random was playing Half Man Half Biscuit’s Vatican Broadside as I passed the White River Amphitheatre, as Slipknot are playing there in a couple of weeks time.  However, he’s gone a bit flaky in his old age; the latter part of yesterday and early this morning was Black Rebel Motorcycle Club’s Baby 81, with a side order of Black Mountain.  This morning was the Balfa Brothers and this afternoon Robyn Hitchcock’s While Thatcher Mauled Britain.  I thought for a second that I’d repaid this by leaving him in the car, but it turns out he’s just hiding at the bottom of The Luggage.

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