The queue of traffic inches forward slowly as I glance at the clock on the dashboard for what seems like the millionth time. Ahead of me someone honks their horn in sheer exasperation. The farmer seems completely oblivious as he slowly rounds up the stragglers to rejoin his large flock of sheep. If I wasn't so stressed, I'd probably enjoy this quaint little scene that's a million miles away from the bustle of city life. However, I'm nearly fifteen minutes late for an appointment to view my dream cottage, which has literally just come on the market. Life without a love interest is going to be simpler, I've decided; no more having to pander to the whims of a man, and at least bricks and mortar can't break your heart.
I'm the first to view and if I don't get there before the next couple arrive, well, I simply can't let that happen. The truth is that cottages in my price range are few and far between. I glance at the property details lying on the passenger seat and grit my teeth. Ramming the gear stick into reverse I edge back a little, sending the driver behind me into panic mode. He's safe enough – I'm sure there are inches to spare. It's not exactly a three-point turn, but after a series of manoeuvres I finally manage to turn the car around and leave the queue of traffic behind. My satnav goddess kindly informs me that in two hundred yards I should turn around, even when I explain to her, very politely, that I have to find another route.
"Drive two hundred yards and turn around," she reiterates for the third time.
"But I need you to recalculate and find me another route," I plead. She ignores my request, so I stab my finger at the screen while trying to negotiate the narrow country lane.
"Take a left and turn around," her perfect and calm voice fills the car.
"Please, just recalculate and find me another route before I have a total meltdown!" I'm mortified to hear my own voice sounding worryingly unhinged, but it does the trick.
"Recalculating. Drive fifty yards and take a right turn."
I adjust the air-conditioning and reposition the vents until a waft of deliciously cold air sweeps over my flushed and perspiring face. The lane becomes even narrower and steeper, branches flicking against the sides of the car as I speed along as fast as I dare. If I meet someone coming towards me now there is nowhere to go. I have to drop down into second gear as the gradient increases rather suddenly. I wonder if I'm being punished by my satnav goddess for ignoring her instructions. Is this the alternative route from hell and this is how she exacts revenge when someone chooses to ignore her instructions? I had no idea that there were lanes as narrow as this, the hedges either side are barely clearing my wing mirrors. It's bordering on claustrophobic and hard to believe this is going to lead anywhere, other than into a field. I must be lost.
"In one hundred yards turn left into Forge Hill and your destination is on the left."
Unexpectedly, the lane begins to open out again as I approach the top of the hill and take the turning.
"In seventy-five yards your destination is located on the left."
"I find that hard to…" The words die on my lips as I round the corner and am surprised to see a small collection of farm buildings and cottages. As I continue on past a rather sharp bend, the view suddenly opens up as the hillside falls away. There, in front of me, is my chocolate-box cottage.
"Your destination is on the left," my satnav goddess confirms and I respond politely.
"Thank you, thank you and thank you!" A wave of excitement grips me as I pull onto the short drive in front of a rather quirky-looking garage.
Stepping out of the car, I immediately spot an older woman walking towards me. Well, I say older, she's about my age.
"I'm very sorry I'm late," I extend my hand. "I'm Madeleine Brooks." We shake and exchange smiles.
"Sarah Manning. Lovely