Day 1: Friday 3rd July 2015

Friday

And so, the day of the great holibob arrived. So much to do, and yet, so little time to do it in. Jools still had a day in work to do. The cats had to be rounded up and taken to the cattery. The cases packed. A hire car collected. Load the car. Water the plants. Pack the washing into the cases.

The first task to was round up the cats and keep them somewhere where they could not escape. We have two such places: the bathroom and the porch. First victim was poor simple Mulder: who, liked to jump up on the bed to remind us it is time for breakfast. We have a choice: feed him or grab him them lock him up. We chose the latter, grabbing the poor unsuspecting cat and locking him in the bathroom.

Molly was next, stretching out in front of me, she is in the porch, meowing plaintively at her sudden incarceration. The house echoed with her cries.

Scully had been sleeping in the bird house; she came in expecting breakfast, but instead ended up in the bathroom with her brother.

Job done, and it was not yet half five. All there was now was to get them in their baskets and get them to Denton, before Mulder’s bowels gave out.

But then came the biggest crisis of the day: Molly’s vaccination certificate was missing. Without that, Molly could not go in the cattery and so we could not go on holiday. It is just an A5 folder, and so could be anywhere: where it isn’t is in the drawer where it should be with the ones for the twins. A frantic search began: in the cat baskets, in other drawers, in the office. Jools then thought logically, and checked to see if it had been in the drawer but had been on a pile of documents, and opening the drawer had swept it underneath. In among the plates, there it was.

Phew.

Time now though for coffee, and for me to run Jools to work in Hythe. And if Thursday had been eerily quiet, Friday was much more back to normal, with heavy traffic and queues everywhere. But we get through Dover and up the A20 to Folkestone and onto Hythe. We part, she wishes me luck with the tasks ahead, and I wish her luck on getting the hoped for half two finish so we could make an earlyish escape up north.

I drive back to Dover, avoiding the harbour area, where traffic had now, apparently, allowed to become a free for all. I have half an hour to kill at home; I have another coffee and then breakfast. Before the cat round up was due to begin.

Cats know when there is something going on, and Molly knows this better than any cat. She sees the basket as I come to cage her up. She panics, meows most meekly. Tries to escape, but gives in with only medium damage to my shoulder.

Scully is easier, and although Mulder tries to make a dash for it, I grab him and he is also locked up tight. Now to rush round, load them in the car and take them to Denton ASAP. Only to bump into rush hour traffic, major queues at the Duke of York roundabout, then again on the A2, but we make it, and the car is still not smelling of cat poo. Which is good.

I reach the cattery at half eight, only to find the gate locked. Please ring the sign says: I have no mobile. I settle down, and amazingly, so do the cats. I had spayed them with some calming pheromones, anti-catnip or something. Well, it worked; the cats snoozed and had long since given up meowing. At nine, Linda came down, unlocked the gate and the cats were put into their pen, where Molly would act out Steve McQueen in the great escape day after day. She is the cooler queen.

I thought it would be an easy drive back, now it was half nine, rush hour traffic would be over, but the free for all lorry dash was one, and I was stuck in a line of lorries a mile long waiting to get into town. But I did get home; time to write a blog, then get packing, sorting the washing out, and making sure nothing had been forgotten. I just thought I would take just about everything. We were to have a big car, apparently.

At quarter to twelve the car hire people came round, and drove me to town to collect the car. Traffic was even worse, with Townwall Street a solid mass of trucks waiting to get to the port; I was going to have trouble getting back.

The computer at the car hire place played up, taking 45 minutes to sort stuff out, I upgraded to a Rav 4 so we would be higher up, be able to see over walls and parapets of bridges, etc. I drive back through the town, and along to coast road home, getting used to the size and many more horses under the bonnet.

I load the car, which seems to fill most of the back and rear seats. Time for lunch, clear out the fridge, wash up: and it was time to go. I double check. Triple check, and sure all was packed, I locked the door and drive to Hythe to wait outside the factory for Jools to get let out.

The sun was out, and it was hot, real hot, so I played with the controls had had the air con running at max: it was chilly. At ten to three, Jools was allowed to leave, and the holibibs could begin. Now, if I were honest, setting out to head north at three on a Friday afternoon is not the most sensible thing, but we had no choice, so made the most of it. Even if it did mean listening to Steve Wright and his ‘big’ show on the radio, for the travel reports if not for entertainment.

The M20 was now open, but on the M25 approaching Dartford, it was solid: it must have taken an hour to get to the tunnel, but then on the other side if was fine. We made good time: the radio said the M11 at Cambridge was blocked, so we had to go to the A1 and then head north: how bad could it be, we thought.

Very bad, it turned out.

Well, not really, there were queues and jams, but they cleared, and we made it up through Bedfordshire, into Cambridgeshire, Rutland and into Lincolnshire. It was now seven, but the last of the queues cleared, and we were motoring at 80.

We stopped off at Newark for a burger and a drink at a diner: always great food and service there. I called the hotel to let them know we were 90 minutes away, but were coming. They said it was good.

Up through Yorkshire, past York, Leeds and turning off the motorway into Ripon. We had been through here twice, thought it looked beautiful and interesting, so booked a two night stay. We found the hotel; the owner came out and greeted us, made us feel very welcome, and showed us to our room.

We had done it. We celebrated with a cuppa and a couple of cookies whilst watching the news: the weatherman said that in the north, where we were now, due to storms, the night could be ‘lively’.

He would prove to be correct.