As our bike rides became more adventurous, we began to require directions. “You will come to a T-junction,” she said.
I had never heard of T-junctions before. I imagined a small shop called “The Tea-Junction” that sold tea and, more crucially, cakes and, even more crucially, soft drinks. A strange little bakery/cafe thing in the middle of nowhere (nowhere being roughly in the region of Old Ross).
I pictured cuboid cakes with pink icing; probably chocolate eclairs, similar to those provided by Kylemore. I wouldn’t want their tea; I would buy from them a can of Coca Cola from the fridge.
The Tea-Junction sounded like a terrific place to stop off and take a break during a long hot bike ride. We would deserve it, all that sweat and unanticipated saddle pain.
I was genuinely looking forward to visiting the Tea-Junction and was genuinely disappointed to find out what it actually was.
The Tea-Junction
And as we travel through a dapple shadow channel, we pretend we are wearing yellow
Climbing and descending the imaginary mountains we have named with our pidgin French
I can’t wait to be holding a cold can of Coca Cola
Coz today we are on our way to the Tea-Junction
But then I see what is cold reality
There’s nothing
Nothing there for me only trees
We carve our initials in a blob of melting bitumen with a sharpish pebble
How is the summer so much warmer, so much brighter, so much longer than the one right now
I can’t wait to be tasting the pink icing of my pastry
Coz today we are on our way to the Tea-Junction
But then I see what is cold reality
There’s nothing
Nothing there for me only trees