Havant A Chance

Havant is a shabby place. I can say that because I come from there, return occasionally, more frequently indeed than I should naturally like and because it is. In the post-ice apocalypse, the semi-cleared surfaces only added to the mean appearance of a meanly run town. Havant is a corpse which has not been buried, its few remains rotting slowly for all to see. Those that feed on the corpse still are understandably undernourished. Reconstruction is not for Havant; it is a dying, living proof that there is no afterlife. A heyday of sorts began in the late 60s but that construction is now falling progressively before the onslaught of demolition and closure to be replaced only slowly or not at all.

The mean-minded operation of a key but rarely manned car-park, a potentially useful multi-storey, demonstrates as much as anything the architectural and adminstrative sulkiness of this ex-town. It routinely closes at 6pm for no obvious reason other than to deprive a trickle of restaurant and pub goers (Havant does not do late-night shopping) of useful covered spaces. Over Christmas and New Year there will be two long closures of 4 and 3 consecutive days. This year in particular people might have appreciated spaces protected from the elements. It won't be one of their presents.

The neglected pavements required careful passage to reach a MacDonalds which was serving as slowly as the last time I snarled under my breath at it; perhaps even serving some of the same people. It is extraordinary that, challenged with no more difficult task than churning out a limited number of pre-defined breakfast items, they should do so quite so lethargically. I was on a solo shopping expedition as Greg was indoors nursing a cold which my immune system (touch wood) seems already to have beaten. Deeply frustrated by the crushing gloom of all three days off, I was trying hard not to drown in my unique brand of self-pity as it became incresingly clear that I would not pointfully be able to go farther afield. Tomorrow, the solstice will cry out to my heart and I shall feast on every extra minute of daylight.

With tasks at Mum's behind me I set off in the general direction of home with further stops planned. ASDA filling station was inexplicably closed having recently twice run out of diesel. As we are not in Inverness I waited at the customer service desk to find out why. I would also be able to ask, I thought, why their postbox was completely full. It was actually impossible to insert a single item more. I think the two women on the desk were moving but it was difficult to tell until one decided, in spite of a growing queue, to go to lunch. She moved then; so did I. I gave up. There was, of course, after a weather related part-hiatus over the weekend, the mandatory panic buying in progress. ASDA, after all, like Tesco is closed for as much as 24hrs over the holiday.

Wanting to be assured, at least from the fuel point of view, of getting to and from work over the next few days, I went round to Shell, Stubbington to find that they had no diesel. I made the unusual decision to fill with their outrageously priced V-Power diesel at 10p a litre premium but made very clear my displeasure at having to do so. I imagine Alex Ferguson's hairdryer blows cool compared to mine. Even on a normal day there is absolutely NO justification for a premium of this size for a product of dubious scientific credentials. The V-Power pump had been mysteriously returned to service 'only minutes earlier', whilst the others remain unsupplied due to a pump problem at the refinery which apparently has lasted for four days. At times like this I wonder if it is possible to do anything legal which might be impressive enough to 'encourager les autres'.

By now the weather had turned to heavy rain so my inevitable thought as I turned towards a usable postbox and home was 'we're fucked if that freezes tonight'. Happy holidays everyone.