Both roads lead to the same named places with one small difference. The first sign read, Little Bleep. The second, Big Bleep.

I'd decided to take the scenic route to my friend, Celia's house warming party and, at first, enjoyed my journey until my old banger gave its last gasp that left me dithering at a cross roads, hoping to find both civilisation and a mechanic.

The mobile, clasped in my hand like a talisman, refused to send or receive messages and, retreating back into childhood, I uttered the words, 'Eeny, meeny, miney, mo.' My finger indicated Little Bleep.

I set out, high hedgerows obscuring any sight that might lead me to a Samaratin's doorstep and, as I headed towards the village of Little Bleep, I wondered, a trifle dramatically, if anyone would care if I went missing.

Twenty minutes later, blisters burning in shoes not suitable for hiking, I reached the sign that read, 'Little Bleep,' its letters almost obliterated by a tangle of ivy and darkness, I realised, wasn't that far away.

Then shapes of buildings appeared like bombed out shells in the growing twilight. Not a sound of a living soul disturbed the balmy air but hope surged at the sight of a pub, halfway down the street, its sign depicting a prancing lamb.

I got to the door, hanging on a rusty hinge. Above the door, large red letters on a white background declared, 'Danger! Keep Out! Falling Debris!' and all around me, Little Bleep's inhabitants, it seemed, had either disappeared into the ether or maybe sucked up into a passing alien space ship.

Nearby, I heard water gurgling. Stepping over to a small wooden foot bridge, I looked down into brown water where midges hovered and, as I gazed into that murky brew, darkness descended as if some unseen hand had switched the lights off.

Alone in a deserted village, unable to think straight, imagining all sorts of future horrors I might encounter, I looked down at my useless mobile throbbing in my hand. Throbbing in my hand!

'Where the hell are you?' Celia's message demanded. 'We'll be pissed by the time you get here! My Coq au Vin's drying out.'

Shaking with relief, I replied, 'Help! Lost in Little Bleep.'

'Bleep!' Celia's message came back. 'Not like u 2 hold back on swearing.'

'It's a fucking deserted village!' I punched back.

'That's the place being turned into a reservoir. Locals now live in Big Bleep.'

Reservoir. Flooded valley. My brief euphoria died. Then a thought struck. I could speak to Celia. When she answered, I blubbered out the circumstances of my abandonment which she in turn argued that my dilema was just sheer stupidity. Then she promised to get help above the background noise of her guests singing to Abba's, Dancing Queen.

Three hours later, a nice man from the RAC came to my rescue. After hauling my dead car onto his low loader, he drove me to Celia's new semi from where no lights shone their cheery beacons of welcome. Silence enveloped Acacia Avenue apart from my rumbling stomach demanding sustinance.