Trial Run: Twinned with an Ancestor of Evil

Still in Ongar. How I love Ongar.

Seeing as, according to my previous day's rushed route planning, the bus I rode in on didn't even exist, I was at a loss as to when any ongoing bus services might arrive.

The women and men of the village's general shop, hairy cheeked and aproned, gave me such varied opinions on the topic of the bus out of Ongar, that I just extracted what little information they all agreed upon.

Already I'd gathered a couple of lessons to put in my knapsack of experience for the journey real: firstly, that planning a route was pointless seeing as it was only going to change the moment I stepped onto the first bus - as it had literally done today; secondly, that I am probably going to be on first name terms with the entire Traveline helpline staff by the end of the two weeks.

After catching up with Kerry at Traveline, I found a cafe to pass the time in. London is creeping out into East Anglia, prices first. On the bus there I remember thinking that some of Epping's neighbouring settlements looked like they couldn't make up their mind whether they were country villages or suburban leakages. Maybe they're set there as a lure for London to come and swallow them up; teases, flirts. Or rather, the other way round: these villages are being groomed by London, the geographical paedophile.

I settled down with a postage stamp size granola 'bar' and freshly squeezed orange juice that, yes, probably was freshly squeezed at some point, when I noticed the village sign (pictured above). Ongar - twinned with Cerizay. I wondered if Cerizay was as odd a name in its home country as Ongar is here. They sound straight from some Historical fiction, the twinned Ongar and Cerizay, an alternative Cain and Abel. Ongar the murderous and greedy half of the brotherhood, Cerizay the humble and brave, yet ultimately destined for defeat at his wicked brother's hands.

I left a tip for the staff that reflected a fair percentage of what I thought the prices should have been - my passive-aggressive gesture for the day. At the bus stop I met a nice old woman who looked like she'd just had her highlights done. Her face sprang into life when I spoke to her, as if woken from a coma. I know it well. I do the same thing travelling on public transport alone. You wear a face that says, "I am neutral. I am not here." It's the child's logic of covering your own eyes when you don't want to be seen. You play vacant and no one will take up the empty seat next to you.

She wasn't taking the X3 to Stansted, I learnt. She was on her way back to Epping. But we got talking. Her ancestors were all Norfolk dumplin's, back in the day. There's a tree, she told me, somewhere in Norfolk that still stands today, on which her great x5 uncle was hanged. It's interesting what people choose to tell a stranger at a bus stop.

I left Ongar feeling the day had got off to a positive start.