going places

There is a certain freedom in a full tank of petrol. When I have filled the tank and see the dial swing to full and the display tell me I have 336 miles before the car will come to a quiet halt of its own accord, I wonder how far that would take me (geography's not my strong point) and if one day I might just take the opportunity to drive off the forecourt and keep going until that happens. Ignore the red light springing up around the 50 mile mark and keep going until I find myself wilfully stranded and work out what to do from there.

A lot of people would hate to be in that position but, like a significant minority, I feel the opposite. I like the possibilities to stretch out in front of me in all directions; it makes me jittery to see things mapped out too clearly, speed cameras and service stations marked along the way. I have had to admit the usefulness of a sat-nav device in the car but loved my old method of getting around by following road signs and buying a map in the local area when I get there; it took me a while to get over my reluctance to tech up. To be fair, I used to get lost and late and it probably wasn't terribly efficient but it was educative, a mini adventure and, when there were no external time pressures, it could be quite exhilarating. Perhaps for the same reason, on filling in my tax return today I find I am unlikely to owe Moira Stewart much cash. Time to give in to the clutches of the 9 to 5? Or keep getting lost and seeing where it takes me.