Viewpoint (From Stroud News and Journal)

Viewpoint

NOW that my predecessors have said their goodbyes, I felt that as the new recruit to the SNJ reporting team I should take this opportunity to say hello. The stunning green Cotswold valleys, punctuated by picturesque listed buildings and quaint little pubs, come as something of a welcome culture shock for a native of a rather less glamorous north-east industrial town.

Since learning I had got the job a month ago, I have become a shameless nuisance to the local estate agents in my efforts to avoid a stint at a B&B.

Having secured a one-bedroom flat with dubious DIY shelving for only half my salary, the question of how to transport my gear 300 miles from Stockton on Tees to Stroud arose.

The logical solution would have been to hire a van - but no. I inwardly groaned as my father, on a permanent mission to save a few quid, gleefully informed me he had managed to borrow a trailer, previously reserved for transporting horse dung to and from the tip (he did at least have the decency to hose it out).

I had serious reservations as we loaded all my worldly possessions onto this tremulous contraption.

But Dad, certain he had hit on yet another brilliant money-saving idea, pooh-poohed my protests, insisting that my gear would be quite safe secured by two pieces of rope and a "tarpaulin" (actually a 25 year-old ground sheet from my parents' collection of camping paraphernalia).

Twenty minutes down the A66, I glanced in the rear view mirror to see the "tarpaulin" hanging on by a corner for dear life and a cushion and three of my CDs flying down the motorway.

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry as we spent half an hour manoeuvring the cumbersome contraption round the narrow, winding streets of Stroud.

But the worst was yet to come. My dad, convinced that a one-way system doesn't apply if you're travelling backwards, attempted to reverse the 18-foot trailer round an off-limits corner.

Imagine my mortification when he demanded I get out to direct this doomed enterprise, subjecting me to the icy glares of the six drivers behind him.

It is a testament to the good nature of Stroud residents that we didn't receive some well-deserved abuse.

The trailer's overnight fortunes are another story entirely. Suffice to say that after a series of increasingly irate calls from the chairman of the residents' association, it seems wise to lie low for a while before getting to know my neighbours.