Wednesday

We had been wanting to go to visit Mother since the weekend; the weather, the snow and the ice meant that it did not happen at the weekend. Tuesday we were busy with shopping and trains; Tuesday, Jools was working and so Wednesday it was going to have to be it. Travelling for 400 miles on Christmas Eve was certainly out.

We woke at half five, and there was no fog outside, but the snow and ice were mostly still there, but the main roads should be clear and gritted. After a cup of tea we loaded the car with presents and set off.

The A20 was clear of ice and other traffic mostly, and we made good time to Canterbury, but as we came to the Canterbury turn off, we saw a sea of red stop lights and made the decision to go through the city and take our chances on the motorway the other side.

The road was still open, we found out later that the police had closed the road due to black ice, so we chose wisely. Traffic remained light as we headed up to Dartford and the tunnel under the Thames. No queues and we were through. Once in Essex, the light was getting better, and it became clear that the snow had not melted there at all.

Laying snow got deeper as we turned up the A12, and deeper into Essex. We ran out of liquid in the screen wash bottle, and so we had to battle poor visibility as well as the weather.
We stopped off at a 'Little Chef' near Colchester and had breakfast, the adjoining garage did not have any washer fluid, and so we made do with bottled water until that froze in the bottle.

Passing through Ipswich, the sun rose and mist rose from the snow covered fields; stunning images, I just wish we could have parked to take shots of it, but there was no chance. And so as we drove on we were treated to the most wondrous winter scenes and light.

North of Ipswich, the good road ran out and we twisted and turned through the Suffolk countryside. It was rather wonderful I have to say. In deference to my hobby, we stopped off at the most striking church on the road between between Ipswich and Lowestoft; Blythburgh.



Blythburgh dominates mud flats and the estuary and surrounding countryside. It is a parish church, but built on a grand scale. For me it was the sign as a child that we were less than 20 miles home when travelling that way, and I had never been to, let alone been inside.



It is wonderful, the golden light made it look like it was on fire. Wonderfully, the door was open and so we got to photograph the inside and meet the churchwardens. We were made very welcome. In the beams of the roof, carved angles looked down on the pews and us. Sadly, we could not stop for long, but it is a glory and well worth a stop if you're passing.



At Mother's, things were no different to other times, my heart sank, we danced around issues, but we were polite and had lunch and talked. Piles and piles of stuff lay everywhere, her talk of change had been just that, talk.

So, as the clock ticked slowly towards two o'clock, we decided to head back to Kent, as freezing fog was forecasted for Suffolk. The road to Ipsich was slower than before, but we kept on moving. Over the radio came a warning of the road on the Orwell Bridge blocked by a jack-knifed lorry, the vague message we worked out suggested it was in the opposite direction, and so we pressed on. The driver was being helped by other motorists, blood pouring from a gash in his head.

As the sun went down, warning of queues at Dartford came over the radio, and so we had a choice, the M25 or risking going into London to the Blackwall Tunnel or worse, central London and Tower Bridge, and rush hour. There was one other choice, the Woolwhich Ferry, we had seen it in the summer, and I thought that the best bet.

Eastern Avenue was very busy, and confusing to the casual visitor, we got caught up in roadworks, but kept on moving. Down onto the north Circular and east into Docklands. Traffic was surprisingly light, past the end of the runway at the City Airport, down a small turning and into the car park. We stopped behind a truck and were prepared for a long wait.
Two minutes later, cars came the other direction and we moved, right onto the ferry. We turned off the engine and the ferry moved off.
Once off the ferry we headed off into Woolwich and then Charlton, towards the A20 and hopefully the road home. Traffic was still light, and soon we left the houses of south London behind and were whizzing through the night into Kent and home.

400 miles there and back on a cold and wintery day, on what the radio told us over and over again was the busiest travel day of the holidays; thanks for that.