Sunday 24th May 2015

Friday.

One thing I did not mention about Friday, happened late in the evening. As usual on Friday, we sat down to watch Monty on TV, this week a round-up of what happened at Chelsea. My computer was on all this time, and so when I went to check, I saw on Twitter a guy had posted that he had a ticket for sale. Some 25 minutes had passed, but I replied straight away that I was interested. We DMd each other, and the upshot was I would have his spare ticket. Only problem is that he lives in Great Yarmouth, and I live in Kent. What with it being mum's birthday in the next week, and despite me saying over an over again we would not be going up, a plan formed: we would drive up to Lowestoft, and the guy would drop the ticket in, just after two in the afternoon.

I was shaking at the end, too good to be true, but I had a ticket, probably. But we had to be up early the next morning, so, off to bed and get some shut eye.

Saturday.

The big trip? Dover to Lowestoft and back. In a day.

Take a deep breath.

And it was a glorious morning, the forecast was for cloud. I would like to have been out walking on the downs, but hey, football ticket!

We loaded to car, not ours, that is still in the shop: so this is the loan car, a little underpowered, and sounds like it might have blown a gasket: would it make it?

Right away, we found our way blocked; a queue on Jubilee Way, so we turn round to try along the Alkham Valley. It is Bank Holiday, so the ferries are bound to be busy, but even still, to be queued up halway up Jubilee Way was a surprise. We re-joined the A20, now the M20, at Folkestone, traffic was light, so we settled back and enjoyed the trip. And at least now they have changed the way tolls are collected at Dartford, we just cruise through the tolls and go down into one of the bores of the tunnel. As usual, the roundabout where we turn off the motorway and go up the A12 was a scary moment. But we make it, I am accelerating, I indicate to pull out to overtake some slower cars, and then the woman driving the middle just begins to pull out as we are beside her. I jam on the horn, she jumps and the car swerves back: In the rear view mirror I can see her husband, or partner, shouting and jumping about.

My heart is jumping for that matter. But that turned out to be the last of the nasty shocks, as the road was nice and quiet, even on Bank Holiday Saturday. We cruise up to Chelmsford, then upto Colchester: no worries, just with the lary Essex drivers who were clearly in some kind of race. We pod on at 60mph, we have lots of time. Over the Orwell, and once passed Woodbridge, we are onto the proper Suffolk country roads, the A12 despite being a 'trunk' road, would barely make it as a B road here in Kent.

We stop off at the posh cafe just after Wickham Market: I have scone and jam, Jools has mushrooms on toast. It is eye-wateringly expensive, but good, and it means that we can decline Mum's offer of food and water. Up and up we drive, until we get to Blythburgh, at which point I think it would be better heading across the marshes to get to Oulton, so that meant heading inland to Beccles before picking up the road to St Olaves. It also meant, hopefully, of seeing the Rhododendrons beside Herringfleet Road; always a highlight at this time of the year.

Once across the marshes from Haddiscoe, and turning off the Yarmouth Road, the Rhododendrons are there, but nearly all finished,with just a few of the tree-like bushes still having blossom in flower. We don't stop. We were nearly in Oulton, there was no avoiding it, next stop would be at Mum's. Another deep breath....

Ting is, we're all so used to the charade that goes on when we visit, it is almost funny. Mum is all full of life, how she does this or that for her neighbours, and yet, she struggles to carry a cup of coffee. In truth, I have no idea what the truth is with her, whether she really is disabled and so needs the zimmer frame and all the other stuff the council has put in her house, or is it just a game? IN the end, I no longer car. e house smells, both beds are piled up with shopping still in their carrier bags, God knows what is in there, whether it was needed or what.

We sit and chat, decline tea, a sandwich and everything else, me just checking my mails and Twitter for news of the guy. At two he says he is leaving work, and so our time in the house of whispers is nearly up. At quarter to three, a car draws up, he has an evelope: better check it he says, handing it over. I open it, inside is the ticket. I smile and hug him. I am nearly in tears. I am going to Wembley after all.

After ten minutes or so, we make our excuses and pack ready to leave. We have been there for three hours or so, the longest we have been there in years: last time it was half that. At least being the end of May, there would be daylight until we got home, and probably no rain. So, we should arrive home not too tired. We wave and drive off.

I still have my ticket.

We re-trace our steps to Beccles, then take the Bungay road and then to Bury to pick up the A14 then south onto the A11 to London. Traffic was light at first, we make good time along the road to Bury, there is plenty of warm, golden sunshine, and I am tempted by many churches on the way. But I drive on. We will return one day to visit the wonderful round-towered churches.

As we get to Cambridge, we see an airshow at Duxford is reaching its climax, with contrails of the Rad Arrows renting the sky apart. I press on as once they are done, the roads would fill with spotters! The motorways is heavy with traffic, but we still make good time, making to the M25 then onto Dartford without issue. Once again, no queues, so we are back in the right county. Our plan was to stop at Medway services for Burger King dinner, then the last blast home.

I have no idea what was going on, but people were driving like crazy: some must have been doing 120, 13 as they hammered passed. We were at the limit, and were the slowest on the road. But still, we made it to Canterbury safely, and by then most of the traffic had turned off, and it was just us and the people making their way to the port.

The final leg, along the Deal Road, then turning off past Walletts Court, the last afternoon sun was glorious, but we had done it: made mUm happy (even if she did know the real reason for our trip was something other than her birthday), and I had my ticket.

The cats were waiting for us, it was just gone seve, and we had only been gone 12 hours or so.

And I had my ticket!