“Excuse me, where can I find the telephone graveyard?” was the question my friends and I were throwing about in a small town in Yorkshire, only to be looked back at with blank stares and obvious confusion. We couldn’t bear to continue asking. It was something we’d seen online and had been curious enough to make an hour trip from a hotel in York.
The locals had us thinking we were off the rails, so I plucked up the courage and asked one last time. “A telephone graveyard?” replied the cashier as she graciously scanned the first item, “I’ve never heard of such a thing”. She must have seen disappointment in my unfamiliar face, as she grabbed a second item. “Wait, you don’t mean the scrapyard do you?”, she squinted, “I mean, I wouldn’t really call it a telephone graveyard, it’s just an old dump”.
I brightened up, and after a lengthy chat – the kind you only get in small towns, where no one ever looks in a hurry – we got back in the car, with every intention of reaching our ‘Everest’. But it was dark and hunger got the better of us, so before we had the chance to even open the pack of cookies we had just bought, we were already on our way back to the place we were temporarily calling home.
Therefore, after much meditation on what went wrong, I’ve decided that one day I will make that trip back to Yorkshire, just to see what all the fuss is about.