Lost in England

Everyone knows that an American driving in Great Britain....well, it’s an interesting experience.


Every morning, as we left our B&B, Muriel had to remind me that I had turned into the oncoming lane.


I really had gotten the hang of it by the time we’d survived the intricacies of the weird traffic arrangements around the town of Bath.

So, we were both puzzled when in the rear view mirror of our rented Ford a blue patrol light was blinking. What had I done wrong?


That’s what I asked the young officer who, grinning widely,  walked briskly toward me from the funny little cars they drive.


Pulling out a pencil and pad, he stated airily, "Yer lorst, arencha?"


“Well, in fact, yes.”  And we were.

On our way... in the left-hand lane

We had been searching for one of those incredible country homes which were designed centuries ago for the presumed comfort of an immensely wealthy British peer and his army-like coterie of relatives and attendants. They could house a major university in some of those country homes.


But most British roads were designed, pre Stone Age, to lead likely enemies astray, or something like that. If so, that’s why no invasion of England has succeeded since 1066, when there were no roads at all (I think). Anyway, he was right. We were "lorst.”

Our destination

The bobby asked me to name the destination, and he promptly sketched out a marvelously helpful notation. He added , "I’d foller yer; but it’s past my route. God bless, Yank."