An unmitigated disaster of a day out on the Fens. I should have believed the BBC forecast for once and stayed at home, instead of disconsolately driving around hoping that the milky haze would shift itself from in front of the sun. But then, you can imagine the length of my tyre marks as I braked in Somersham for this. Two very old pumps like this one, two sixties varieties (one with a Cleveland globe) an oil dispenser cabinet, an AA box peeping over a hedge. Not in the confines of a motoring museum, but at the side of the road as if business was not only as usual, but booming. It's called the West End Garage, with a little kiosky place with things like the Michelin man in the window driving a red pedal car. I expected at any minute for an overalled man to appear and start polishing my headlamps with a yellow duster. It all cheered me up no end, and I had to go to Ely for a cup of Rooibosh Vanilla tea and a toasted Norfolk ham and brie sandwich by the river. Oh! Look Janet, look John. That Castrol open and closed sign. Didn't the big green metal disc revolve in the wind?
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