Driving home from PC World this morning (where they gave me a brand-new super-duper-printer - I'm not sure what sort of exchange I was expecting from them - maybe something more in the John Bull line seeing as the printer was almost a year old) I made myself go through town.
Road-works go on apace in order to convert the city centre into a one-way system. It's getting there but it still feels odd to be driving down the wrong side opf the road. I make sure I am following someone - preferably not a council workman who might have the authority to go where we mere mortals can't - and stick in one lane. If that means a slightly longer and more roundabout route than I had intended, well, so be it.
One thing I did notice was signs pointing to the Metro. I know these roadworks have taken some time and I haven't been following their progress closely but surely I would know if they were building an underground system? Apart from anything else, I mean, where would it go? It's only a small city centre really.
So taking this unexpected route home I passed a memorial chapel at the bottom of a block of flats. When I was in school there was a church on this site and the wife of the minister there taught us history.
I can't remember any history she taught us - or even what periods in history we covered - but I do remember the first few sentences she spoke to her new class of eleven-year-old girls.
'My name is Mrs Brynmor-Jones. That's Brynmor, not Bryn-y-mor, which is the road. And you needn't tell me I still have my hat on as I know: I don't take it off.'