Tuesday 28th December 2010

Bank Holiday.

Again.

As yesterday was one too. If you follow?

Boxing Day is, apparently, a huge day for shopping with half the country going to shopping centres and Malls to spend what bit of their loans they had not spent on Christmas. Many people travel home from families, whilst the rest of us sleep the day before off. The day after Boxing Day is pretty much the same, doubly so this year as it was a bank holiday due to Sunday being Christmas Day and all. Against all reason, it was this day, bank holiday Monday, when we had decided, I had decided to make the trip back to the old country (Suffolk) to drop of Christmas gifts and do the dutiful son bit.

And so the alarm went off at five; it was still dark outside, but there was no frost at least, and so after a cuppa we loaded the car with gifts and set off for Suffolk.

The road, the A and then M20 were fairly empty, and so we arrived at the Dartford Crossing within an hour. We dropped the £1.50 in the basket at the barrier and off we went, under the Thames and into Essex.

The road, the A12, was empty and we made good time. We stopped off to try to get breakfast at a Little Chef, but they were not open until eight. we pressed on through Essex and into Suffolk. We tried for breakfast in the retail park around Tesco; but again all was closed.
We headed north, over the Orwell Bridge; as ever the good roads ran out and after Wickham Market we were down to a two line blacktop. As the good roads ran out, there is a farm cafe and shop; we pull in. There is woodburner roaring in the corner and for us the choice of tables at which to sit. We each order a 'Suffolk Breakfast' and read one of the magazines on offer on a nearby shelf.

The food is excellent, but the bill, £22 for two medium sized breakfast was shocking; no matter how good the food was.

We pressed on, and in an hour we were in Lowestoft and pulling up outside the house where I grew up. Mum now lives there alone; we arrived un-announced, but as usual, the door was unlocked and so after grabbing the bag of gifts, we walked in.

Her house is a little more cluttered, a little more dusty than before. I take a deep breath and we walk into the living room.



Dealing with Mother is like doing the tango; we each know the moves, the questions to ask, the subjects to avoid. All part of the game for sure. Mum made a cup of tea and we sat down to talk to; in an hour we were struggling to find new subjects to talk about. We talked on until the clocked moved on to one in the afternoon, and we made our excuses, packed our bags with exchanged gifts and walked to the car.



Before heading on to the wide open road that would take us past Bungay and Diss to Bury St. Edmunds, we stopped for a drink at a pub in a village just outside Lowestoft. An old schoolfriend I had not seen since May 1981 was propping up the bar, and after realising we recognising each other we swapped our life stories; multiple divorces, working in the oil industry and so on.

And then it was time to take to the road; alarmingly, Radio 2 was full of huge queues of traffic on the M25, and the talk was of hours of waiting to get home.



As it was the hardest part was the blandness of the radio, and our struggle to keep our eyes open. South of Cambridge, the M11 was nose to tail, but we moved on in due course. And then onto the M25. In the end, as it was getting towards half four, the traffic was lighter, and we kept on moving, more or less and by five we were back in Kent and heading home.

When we got home, we found that the pound of sausages we had defrosting had, as been feared, been found by the kittens, and were now scattered through the house. So, something else for dinner then?

We had six rashers of smoked bacon, a Christmas cake and mince pies. Soon enough the smell of bacon grilling and brewing coffee filled the house. The cats were fed, and soon so were we, and I slumped on the sofa to watch the Arsenal v Chelsea game.