The engines are all on the blink again as the petrol run low once more. Our thighs are all aquiver with foreboding as we make our way down these dark side streets, following the ancient runes that point our way towards… towards… towards we do not know what, but when we get there… if we ever get there then we will know.
[An ancient mystical rune that purports to point the way for the weary traveller to take]
There are so many legends, stories and rumours about these long lost mysterious mythical places. Tales told around the camp fires where the old shoppers gather to tell the tales of the great shopping trips of the ancestors. Time and again though as the fire ebbs and dies, talk turns again to the legend of the lost car park.
The tales, as all such tales do, vary, some speak of a giant lost multi-storey car park deep within the fabled shopping centres. Others talk of wide-open spaces out on the outskirts of the shopping malls, where car parking spaces extended as far as the eye could see, spreading far out into the place of legends and heroic tales, meeting the wild untamed jungle of the suburban housing estates where civilisation - as we know it - ends.
Of course, many, many explorers have set out searching for these fabled monuments that, it is said, the ancients set up to worship the holy motor vehicle, back in the days when such things were, in those more superstitious times, regarded as gods to be worshiped and placated with temples devoted to their times of rest and recuperation.
But we are her, lost on these endless bypasses and one-way systems that seem to promise the sanctuary of the holy parking space, without ever actually providing us with one. We are the doomed cursed forever to cruise these streets until in the end – finally – we run out of petrol and out of hope.