Monday 30th November 2015

Sunday

Thing about going away is that at some point you have to come home. And with the road system in Britain being clogged most of the time, the best time to travel is either the middle of the night or as early as possible. Do we wait for breakfast at the guesthouse or leave early? In the end we opted for breakfast before we left, which meant laying in bed from before six as dawn crept over the city outside.

But breakfast time did arrive, and the smell of baking bread once again floated up the stairs and under our room door. We packed and were ready to go, so we went down to eat. Our hosts were very keen to talk, very keen indeed, and were chatting away as we tried to inch closer to the car loaded with our bags. In time we escaped the nice people, and had 200 miles of open road ahead of us.

A quick pitstop in the garage at the end of the road to fill up with fuel, and onwards to Newark and the road south. At nine on a Sunday morning, traffic was light, there was even some weak sunshine to illuminate the day. We put Radio 6 on, and so soundtracked our trip south. It is always surprising to find out how long the road is between Newark and the turn off for Cambridge just south of Peterborough, on the way we passed places from my past: RAF Swinderby, RAF North Luffenham, Rutalnd Water and so on, all places that marked out various times in my RAF careeer, but now just names on roadsigns. In fact Swinderby is now an industrial estate, and Luffenham seems to be an army base now.

The road to Cambridge was certainly busy, but we pressed on at the speed limit and soon left most of the traffic as they turned off for the city centre or the main road headed east to Felixstowe. We took the motorway south, into Essex and the land of the barmy drivers. Cerys was on the radio, playing a eclectic mix of music, which is always a delight, it made me hardly not notice the traffic to be honest.

By 11 we were on the M25, in heavier traffic still, but still on time to be home just after midday; strong winds meant that the speed limit on the bridge meant creeping over at 30mph, but we were back in Kent. From there it is a blast of an hour to Dover, through port traffic and those heading to Ashford for shopping. We zoomed on, just wanting to be home and seeing them cats.

Driving through Dover to avoid the everpresent queues for the docks, passing by the crowds out Christmas shopping, up Conaught Hill, past the castle and onto St Maggies. Quarter past twelve and we were home. Phew.

We unloaded the car, fed the cats and put the kettle on.

The cats seemed to have already forgiven us for leaving them home alone; a friend had been coming in to feed them, and they seemed to be none the worse for it. And as usual for a couple of hours each of us had at least one furry shadow as we went about whatever we were doing. By three, my batteries were flat, and so I took to the sofa to listen to the radio, as City were playing Arse with it being on the radio as well. And as Britain won the Davis Cup just before kick off, we got uninterrupted coverage. Arse took the lead, but City pulled level just before half time, and in the 2nd half played well and could have won the game, but didn't. A 1-1 draw, we would have taken that I suppose.

We have chorizo hash for dinner, and physically both of us are shattered. Its been a long weekend, and tomorrow is a school day. Mum in her weekly report tells me another one of the people I went to school with has passed away. This is getting serious!

And that was the weekend, with us giving up at nine and heading to bed, followed by all three cats. Which is how it should be.