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I was quite taken with the new technology when I penned this in 2007. I am certainly more cynical now, having been taken the wrong way down one-way roads and through the centre of very congested areas rather than the sane route. I’m waiting for some bright light to consult a coven of wise old taxi drivers and put together a decent set of digital maps that actually make sense. In the meantime, I usually ignore the GPS and muddle through, dipsy doodling all the way.

Down Under

I probably wouldn’t mention it if we happened to strike up a conversation in the checkout line of a supermarket, but I will admit, if pressed, to being directionally challenged. Perhaps it is an inherited trait. It would be nice to blame somebody, and it occurs to me that one of my ancestors may be at fault. The one who led the covered wagons into the Great Salt Lake. Whoops!

The fact that I was once employed as a location scout in Hollywood land may strike some of you as puzzling, perhaps even perverse. Finding the locations wasn’t difficult; it was finding my way back that was hard. The art director of one show, who seemed to be alternately amused and annoyed by our outings, coined the term dipsy doodle to describe my circuitous navigation. I would approach each address as if I had to circle it a few times…

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