Sat navs are for wimps

 It wasn't the 5 crashes I drove past on the motorway, or the torrential rain that meant visibility was zero feet, or even the gale force winds forcing Miranda to use most of the carriageway in a very entertaining manner, no, what caused me most consternation on today's epic mission was the sudden change from motorway to horse cart track

 and the absence of road signs to aid the confused (see typical junction above with less than helpful signage). Thankfully the weather had cleared by this point and after nearly bumping into the local post lady I was pretty confident that I would make my destination, my friends daughter's wedding in plenty of time.
My sat nav has a sense of humour so is not to be relied on to give sensible directions and in any case the plug connector in Miranda refuses to power the joke map box up so I was relying on good old fashioned map work and an innate sense of direction.
As this was failing secret weapon of posties local knowledge would suffice. Except postie who was concerned that I was in a hurry, this she ascertained as I was travelling faster than a horse and cart, and convinced that "Theres no farm of that name in these parts me lover". She was mistaken in so many ways by that statement, I tried to reason with the yokel stereotype, as I was sure that along this road, behind her nice red van blocking the road, there was a left turn after some cottages "Oh arr you're right but I'm not sure where it leads" I left her to sucking her straw and found left turn and took it wondering how people in these parts got their post delivered.

 Left turn led to some interesting stone formations and as I was about to pull the eject lever and bail out I spotted my destination.

 The wedding had not started, I was on time, I even got a bale of hay to myself to sit on.

 This really was a flying visit (if only, helicopter would be nice) as my beautiful and oh so patient wife was left at Rock HQ nursing poorly apprentice smallholder who was busy covering everything with snot while she was feeling equally poorly. Rather than inflict germ warfare on the wedding guests, and not wanting to miss the big day, yours truly manned up and drove the 180 miles to witness the main event, photograph the lucky groom and beautiful bride,

 pause for a snap with bride's mother

 and father, who used to be a climbing partner of mine but now makes cider in large quantities, before grabbing a quick a quick sandwich, cup of luke warm tea

and heading back out into the wilderness to drive back to HQ in time for tea and medals. And feed the pigs, clean the snot off the dogs and look after poorly better half.