Oops, I forgot to mention my least pleasant moment in York.
As I said earlier, we saw a lot of mediaeval history. A lot. And by day six, I felt I’d seen enough. I mean, really, just how many battles, dissolutions, and reformations can one girl take? So I sent CB off to do the town solo, arranging to head in later in the morning and meet up for lunch; and I stayed in the hotel. I took Scout for a walk, I ironed my new blouse (a peedie wee purchase from the day before), and took some things down to the car.
And that’s when I saw it. I simply couldn’t believe it. It was my own fault for parking under the trees, I know. But seriously, what bird is capable of doing that? Were there Canada Geese roosting in the chestnut tree above the car? Had a pterodactyl flown over?
And I wasn’t sure how long it had been sitting there, hardening – we’d arrived two days prior and hadn’t moved the car since. But this had to be dealt with. So, after taking Scout for her walk (what was another 45 minutes of drying going to do?), I drove to the nearest Tesco carwash. The attendant asked if I wanted the drive-through or the self-wash, and while I was pretty sure the self-wash (or self-scrub, really) was the way to go, the two buff young men waiting in the queue to hand-wash their sexy sports cars were probably going to take a while, so I plumped for the drive-through.
I couldn’t roll down the window to key in the code and I’m sure the guy behind me thought, as I was opening the door to use the keypad, “Stupid old broad can’t even park right”. So, through we went (poor Scout hates carwashes). Well, it improved the situation somewhat, but when I tried to use some paper towels to remove what the carwash couldn’t, it was clear the remainder was pretty firmly glued onto the window.
It was a huge Tesco, so I thought it might have an automotive section (it did), so I bought a squeegee and one of those cloth, noodle-y, wash mitts. But what to do for water? There was still a whole lot of poo left. I realized I haven’t seen those squeegee & water bins we have at gas stations in Canada, so I couldn’t really head back to the petrol station.
But then I saw their outdoor gardening trolleys by the entrance to the Tesco, covered in pots and pots of annuals – and those pots were sitting in water! Filthy water, but water nonetheless. So I slipped the mitt on, slapped my hand into the pools of water, and slopped back to the car, to do what I could. After three trips back and forth to the flower pots (the buggy boy was very confused), I got almost all of the poo either off, or at least loosened. Back to the garden trolleys one last time to throw away the 10 minute-old, shit-covered, sodden mitt in the neighbouring bin; then back in the car, and back to the carwash one more time.
It was at this point that I spotted the windshield washer stand to the right of the car wash – imagine, a hose full of soapy water that would have just blasted off the excrement – oh well, I’ll know for next time. (God help me, not a next time. There can’t be two monster birds with a bowel condition flying around the UK, can there?) So we drove through the carwash one more time, much to Scout’s dismay, then drove back to the hotel to park in a wide-open section of the parking lot. An hour and a quarter of my life I will never get back.
And I can still see little flakes of residue every time I open the driver’s door window. Sigh.