Postcards From Across the Pond

For the past twenty-three years and nine months, I have lived thirteen miles (by road; less than ten as the crow flies, assuming the crow flies in a perfectly straight line) from the town of Horley, yet I have never been there. The reason being, there is no reason to go to Horley. Even the railway companies believe there is no reason to go there because, when I was at the station this morning looking for a train to Horley, the “Next Fastest Train to …” board went from Havant to Ifield with no Horley in between. As it was, the train I took did stop at Horley, which was a good thing because, today, I had a reason to go there.

The NHS has at last begun taking baby-steps toward preventative medical care, as opposed to fire-fighting, and by virtue of my admitting to being a cigar smoker, I won an all-expenses paid treatment at their mobile clinic. My wife won a mammogram for admitting to being a woman, but in her case the rolling clinic (a sort of port-a-cabin on wheels) was within a ten-minute walk of our flat. My mannogram required a train journey to a place I had never been before.

I offered my wife the opportunity of accompanying me, but she opted to go to lunch with a friend, instead, leaving me with the quip: “If you go without adult supervision, you’re more likely to get a post out of it.” She was not wrong.

It was, naturally, raining, and to me, rain plus going someplace I have never been equals taxi. So, when I walked out of the station, I went in search of the taxi rank.

There was no taxi rank. In truth, there wasn’t much of a station, either.

So, falling back on my phone, I entered the coordinates and the first instruction delivered was, “Walk 500 yards northeast.” Having forgotten my pocket compass, and not even being able to use the sun to help orient me, I was left with no option but to walk twenty feet one way, check the phone to see if I was on the blue line, then walk another way, check the phone, etc. Once oriented, it was hat on, hood up, head down, and follow the commands of the map app.

And that’s a shame, because I’m sure Horley is a lovely little town, but all I could see was a sodden sidewalk interspersed with …

“Turn left onto Victoria Way.”

… massive puddles that stretched into the road, making it necessary to time traffic so I didn’t end up getting soaked. (I understand that if you openly carry a brick, …

“At the roundabout, take the second exit.”

… you can dramatically decrease the number of times passing cars splash you.) At any rate, I missed what was likely to be an aesthetically pleasing residential street, and only looked up when I entered …

“You have reached your destination.”

… the massive industrial estate on the edge of town, which was clearly not meant for pedestrians. After attaining the jumbo-jet-hanger-sized Tesco on the far side of the twenty-acre car park, I went in search of an alleged café. A sign at the entrance of the store claimed they had one, but I couldn’t find it. I had to open my map app to search for it, and it actually did have the Tesco interior mapped out, the store was that massively huge. There was a barber shop, a Greggs, two photo booths, a Holland and Barrett, a Bureau de Change and a Krispy Kreme, but no hint of a café.

Turns out, it was on the upper level, and you had to order using an electronic kiosk. Aside from that drawback, it was big, bright, and nice enough. I thought I would have ample time to sit and write, but after walking, and spending so much time searching for the café and waiting for my hot chocolate, I only had seven minutes left.

At the NHS port-a-cabin, I answered the same questions posed to me by three different people—four, if you count the person who initially called me about the appointment—I guess they want to see if you can keep your story straight. Then I was ushered into a room and faced with one of the most impressive pieces of kit I have seen in a long time. It looked like something James Bond might be strapped to if Blofeld was trying to torture information out of him.

As it turned out, it was a pleasant lie-down (but only five minutes worth) and then I had to find my way home. Walking down had not been a joyous occasion, so I called a Horley-based taxi company, who sent a cab from Reigate. Upon picking me up, we began a rather lengthy route to the station that should have been only a few minutes away. Fortunately, the driver asked, “Are there no trains from Horley today?” I said there was, then wondered why he would ask that and said, “You are taking me to Horley, right?” to which he replied: “No, Redhill.”

After this miscommunication was cleared up, the driver began making his way to Horley station, just as I began to think I’d have been better off at Red Hill station because at least they have a coffee shop. The upshot was, I ended up spending £15.75 on a trip that should have cost about £8, but at least I was treated to a leisurely tour of Horley town centre. Overall, I think it would have been quicker to walk.

But, for better or worse, wetter or dryer, I’ve had my mannogram, and they’ll send me something soon to let me know if I’m okay or should start getting my affairs in order.

I’ll keep you posted.