On Sunday 9th February my friend and I were dumped 150 miles from Durham only to have to hitch-hike our way back. Being a slightly nervous individual who likes to have everything planned days in advance it is not far wrong to say that I was in a panic for much of the ride down from Durham. In fact, I think the question that was going through my mind for most of the trip was one I had voiced to my friend earlier, namely ‘If we die, how will they find our bodies?’ And, it turns out, I wasn’t far wrong with my worry, as the prospect of freezing to death became a very likely reality. People really are heartless souls. Not even the HUGE sign saying ‘Charity Hitch-hike’ did anything to melt the ice that covered their hearts. We ended up standing for hours in temperatures the Artic would have been proud of until I was pretty sure that the lack of feeling in my nose meant it had parted from the rest of my body. Maybe it was this disfigurement that scared people off, but, whatever the reason, we spent the majority of our time giving up on the human race.
When someone eventually did stop we gratefully clambered in, only to find out he was an ex-con and facing another 30 years inside. The reason: smuggling birds. I, naturally, jumped to the conclusion that he must be using the, somewhat derogatory, term for young girls and images of being smuggled to some far distant place and the fate that awaited me there began playing. However, a passing comment about his parakeets saved me from my certain doom and the journey passed with me in a state of euphoric elation. Not even the smell of something counter mount to a dead body emanating from the back could dull the mood.
Despite this, I had one of the best days of my life. For the millions of unfeeling robots on the road, there is one, utterly lovely, empathetic person. We were lucky enough to encounter one of these on our last leg. A woman, who, it turned out, had passed us earlier. Upon realizing that she wasn’t actually a robot, she had come back to pick us up. However, her kindness didn’t stop there. She lived only 4 miles from where she picked us up, but, upon hearing that we were from Durham, agreed to drive us the extra 23 miles. We made it home in time for a lovely dinner in the Castle Great Hall. Perhaps a little worse for wear (I had managed to leave a chunk of my knee somewhere on the main road out of Sheffield) but safe and warm and, after a quick look in the mirror, with a very much intact nose.