yep, having a past that might catch up with you is in the spirit of this thread but we don't want to give too many clues.

maybe wishing you had past that might catch up with you is more in keeping.

That's the spirit that built the Empire. The youth of today make do with Beckton.

Ah but they have Alps at Becton, who would need Ongar?

Never having seen Ongar, I don't actually know if one "needs" Ongar. I have the idea though that it's one of those places that seeps into one's soul, having seen it one would return often and dream of one day moving there, eventually going to one's grave regretting never being quite able to escape from Tahiti.

I used to get my LandRover fixed by a garage in Ongar. That's about all I recall of the place. It's a vaguely well-to-do Essex town. Posher than some, less so than others.

A sentence replete with the bitterness of exile, tinged with regret over failure to properly appreciate experiences taken for granted at the time but now, in all likelihood, foregone forever. I sense something of the same when seeing lone figures at the bar reverently fingering ancient copies of the A to Z, tears welling in their eyes. When will you next be in Essex in a Land Rover?

Ironically enough, in two weeks time. (Although the LR will be my sister's LR3 which is a step upwards from the 1972 SIII that brings back fond memories of having my wallet lightened by aforementioned LR mechanic in Ongar.) Essex will be a fleeting pleasure though on our way to Northern and Eastern parts.

One's pleasure in Essex is so often fleeting.

Yes indeed, it would perhaps be a spiritual need that one might have for Ongar. The anticipation of the unknown, perhaps even forbidden pleasures that Ongar and Land Rover might offer.

I went to Frinton once.

I have not, knowingly, been to Frinton but the very name conjures images of places and moments that seem now to belong to another lifetime. Cold rain drumming on the roof of a caravan, the smell of damp wool, kites never quite dry enough to become airborne. Above all, inadequate sandwiches, tomato or pressed meat derived from animal by-products, bread with the consistency of that damp wool, eaten in a grey car while gazing through drizzle toward where a lighthouse or castle or some other symbol of England ought to be. A father, perhaps dreaming of once again being in a warm and dry office, promising to "make a dash for it" after just one more fag.

That England is lost to me now but there is the promise that, at some date unspecified, I might see Ireland, a country where it's the damp that kills you. I think that might go some way to toward quelling my yearning for the caravans and windswept piers of the past. I shall first visit the British store here, get myself a Pack-A-Mac.

Dbd, Your eulogy reminds me of the sight of pensioners, who, having driven to the the seaside carpark to gaze at the grey expanse of ocean, flecked with white, under a lowering sky, pour tea from thermos flasks, and sit, contemplating the bleakness of their being. They never get out of the car but sometimes sleep, sometimes read the paper, before packing up and driving slowly back from whence they came.

...if my folks ever get to that stage, we've discussed that euthanasia would be the kindest thing.

Ongar. My Lolita.
The forbidden fruit.
Will you forever taunt me in my dreams.
This unrequited love.
Oh cruel temptress.
Will this passion ever be fulfilled.
In Frinton I find solace.
But my heart will always belong to you.

I have permission to put SAW04 out of his misery if he ever starts 'driving like a Canadian'

I thought of him last night on the Gardiner Expressway. I had explained in detail to some Somali limo driver the exact meaning of my gesture with thumb and forefinger, poured myself tea from a thermos flask, finished it, napped for a while, glanced at the papers, called everyone I know in a timezone back of eastern and given more thought than I care to the bleakness of my being.

It's not to my credit but it always cheers me to think of someone in a worse spot. "Every ****ing day" I thought, "he's going to do this twice every ****ing day".

Or perhaps "Every ****ing day for the first month and then he might decide that perhaps he should get the GO or we should move to The Beach"