Real Life Quest
Entry posted by Merch Gwyar
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I don't often write about real life in this blog, because that's not what anyone is here for. Most of all me. However, this weekend I had a real life quest and thought I'd tell you about it.
My friend, EM, has no telephone and no internet connection. For a decade, we stay in contact by me randomly turning up and knocking on his front door. It could be once a month or a couple of times a year. He opens the door, puts the kettle on and we just fall back into step. It's all good. All good, that is, until I'm ridiculously busy closing a national project/office for a few months, followed by 18 months of being unemployed and therefore not being able to afford the petrol money to travel all up there to visit him.
Friday night, I sat down and worked it out. It had been two and a half years since I last saw him. That's a long time. That's a quest. I packed an overnight bag, told everyone here that I'll either be back very late or not at all, then set off up on motorway to the Wirral. Friday night rush hour slowed down my usual driving like a lunatic approach to getting anywhere, but eventually I arrived at his town. It was half past 8 and the sky was burning. Not just the the toxic gases from the local industries, but also with the most brilliant sunset! Locked in my room for so long, I'd forgotten about sunsets and this was an incredible one. The hippy in me was happy.
I rang the buzzer for access to his flat and it was answered. Unfortunately, it was answered by a young, blonde woman with a baby, not an aging, grey-haired druid. The lady was lovely, but she couldn't help me. She had been there over a year and all she knew of the previous occupant was that he'd been evicted two years before. She'd heard rumours that he was in a home or prison or something. 'kay. I set off to his ex-wife's house, where two of his adult kids still live. Unfortunately, there was no answer at their flat. No problem. I got back into the car and drove to the next estate, where a stranger opened the door at my friend's mother's house. He informed me that Mrs M had died two years ago.
So there I was. Twenty minutes after arriving, sitting in my car, stunned by the news of Mrs M; while also worried about my friend. The town where they lived has a population of 64,100 people, crammed into flats and the council estates, between port and refinery. If you've ever watched 'Shameless', then I'm convinced that it was based on this place. Even my mates who live there nod wryly at that one. If you look like the police or a social worker, then no-one is going to know anything. I had absolutely nothing to go on, however I did have a couple of things in my favour. Firstly, I look nothing like the police or a social worker; I look like a short-arsed, female crusty. I've been told that I do 'little girl lost' very well and, given the amount of times that I get searched trying to get into venues, I must look like someone who's taken a lot of drugs. All very good attributes towards gaining instant acceptance in this town. Secondly, I have 301 quest points and a quest cape!
I set off into his old local pub. There the licensee was new and had never heard of him. However, he called over some of the old-timers. One of them was able to tell me that EM was still alive, but living on the opposite part of town. He didn't know where precisely. But that was good. At least I'd now discounted half of the town. As they all shrugged with, 'awww, you've come such a long way' kind of comments, I asked for a list of the main pubs over there. I then asked for which of them had a quiz machine. (Me and EM used to finance whole nights out by going from quiz machine to quiz machine in each pub. Answer enough questions correctly and they gave you a tenner jackpot.) I was directed to the Horse and Jockey. Hurrah!
It took another twenty minutes to find the pub, including a stint being utterly lost amongst the backstreets of the refinery; where the sky glows orange at night and the air has a bitter, acidic taste in your mouth. In my defence, I was following the directions of the woman in the first pub at the time. It's just that her directions were crap. Eventually though, I found my way back to the carpark of the local industrial museum, which had been mentioned. There was a bloke in a van there and, when I mentioned the pub, he knew the way. However, he warned me that it was a git to find, if you didn't know the backstreets. Nevermind though, he would take me. There are probably whole 'Don't Do This At Home Kids' warnings attached to following strange men in vans out of dark carparks into unfamiliar streets, but I wouldn't have hurt him. He was safe enough. He set off and I tailed him in my car to the Horse and Jockey. Woot!
Once in there, the lady behind the bar had never heard of him and neither had any of the regulars. I was just planning my next move, when the licensee came up from the cellars and was asked the question. He checked a couple of facts with me and suddenly grinned. He thought he might know someone who knows him. He got out his 'phone and called a friend, asked on it and the grin grew broader. He handed me the 'phone, which was a bit of a problem, as I'm partially deaf and was getting by in the pub conversations only by lip-reading. It turned out ok though, because it was only a small pub and everyone was interested in this quest by now. They all went silent and I could hear the bloke perfectly. He didn't know the address, but he did know what the house looked like. I left the pub knowing that it was in a street on the other side of the motorway, up by the railway bridge, down on the left somewhere.
I set off again. None of the houses up the first street matched the description (terraced, white painted house with an over-hang on the front door). I turned off down a side-street and halfway down, there it was. I knocked the door and, precisely an hour and quarter after I'd arrived in the town, I was face to face with my friend. EM's face was a picture. He said that only five people in the world know where he's living now and I'd managed to track one of them down. He'd not been in either a home nor prison. His mother isn't dead either. She's been hospitalised for months and isn't far off, but she is alive and kicking at the moment. When I told him my route, he said that that should never have worked. He doesn't even go into the Horse and Jockey. In fact, he's pretty much been a hermit for two years and was pretty much ready to vegetate into old age in front of the telly.
Sod that, I said, let's go to Wales. By midnight, we were huddled under a sleeping bag, on the very tip of the Braich y Pwll, at the end of the Llŷn Peninsula. The Irish Sea was crashing into the rocks far beneath and Bardsey Island (the Avalon of legend) was just a silhouette in the darkness. Everytime the lighthouse turned, it lit up for a millisecond, then plunged into blackness again. It was freezing up there, with the wind quite icy at our backs, but my night vision isn't bad. I'd set off down the mountain slope towards the cliff, until I located a great outcrop of rocks. Squatting down in front of them, it was relatively warm, so I went and fetched him. It was here that we sat, looking up at the vast canopy of stars, unhindered by light pollution, pointing out constellations like the Great Saucepan, the Great W, the Great V and the Headless Donkey. EM was certain that I was making some of these up. He of such little faith.
Quest completed. -.-
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