Friday 22nd July 2016

I awoke at gone seven again, after some nine hours peaceful sleep. And felt great. I mean better than I have felt for weeks.

And I was going home!

Heck, there was barely enough time to get dressed, pack, check out, have breakfast and finally load the car and it was already past eight.

I knew the way, the car had a bonnet full of horse, it was a glorious sunny day, and the roads were so empty; this was going to be fun! I put a rock station on the car's hifi, and set off.

Down the street, past Anni and Bo's place and out of the city, out onto the main road where it turns into a motorway, climbs gently uphill before joining the E45 south. AC/DC were playing, there was so much space in which to put my foot down, and yet the engine did not scream.

I turn off the motorway for the last 36 miles to the airport, get stuck behind a truck for a while, travelling at 4km below the speed limit; as soon as the road turned back to a motorway, I put my foot down and the Audi leaps away like a scalded cat.

I arrived at the airport to find shorter queues than normal, but then I was about a quarter of an hour later than usual. Sure enough inside the depature hall, families are everywhere, getting ready for their Ryanair flights to the sun further south.

I set up work at a free table and try to ignore the screaming children about me. I know I was young once, and I would be doing the same if I had flown at their age. But how am I supposed to concentrate? Anyway, I fire off a couple of mails, and update yet more documents no one will read, and then it is time to go to board the flight.

There is the usual scramble for seats, but I don't bother to join in, I am last one and find I have a row to myself, whereas all the others are squished in. But the guy behind me spends the whole flight putting his knee into the small of my back, so I punch it back repeatedly. Makes no difference.

We arrive over a mostly cloudy London, and as we bank onto final approach, I get a fine view down the river than all the chaos of the city on either side.

We touch down, and we all scramble to get in the queue in the aisle even before the door is open. It is the modern way. We are let out, and I help a mother with her child, carry out her bag for her, as it was the right thing to do of course. But in the airport arrivals hall, there were no queues, we go to the front of the line, get our passport scanned and once through find our bags already waiting.

I dash down onto the platforms below to find a train waiting, and I work out there was a chance I might even make the twenty to two train from St Pancras. The train wasn't even half full, quite amazing really, everything so much less busy than normal.

I decide not to go on the Tube this time, as it would be so hot, especially as there were no queues for taxis. I get in one and tell him to get me to St Pancras, and he tries to get me there for half past. But the traffic along Euston Road is just too heavy, and we catch all the lights as we go down it.

As I climb out of the cab, I see I have 30 seconds to make it onto the platform to catch the train, and I'm never going to do that, so I make my way to the shop just inside the station for a bottle of cold Budweiser (Czech version) and wait for the ten past two train to Ashford. Jools said she would come to pick me up there, so even though there were no seats, I am happy enough, knowing that I would be with her in 30 minutes. It was hot on the train, but the trip is not long, and I could look at all the usual landmarks as we speed into Kent and travel towards the coast.

Jools is waiting, so I throw the bags in the back, and we drive to the motorway and then towards Dover, but there are queues already building, and we are held up ten minutes at Ayecliffe, we turn up Military Road, go through the town and up Castle Hill, and from there along Reach Road, along the cliffs to home We had done it, and it was the weekend.

We have a brew and an ice cream, sitting on the patio in the afternoon sun. I feel full of beans, but Jools is shattered.

I cook chorizo hash for dinner, and as usual it is marvelous, and perfect with half a bottle of red too.

That night the next part of The People's History of Pop was on, 1965 to 1975, very good, but too much to squeeze in. And in the next one, I may or maybe not be featured. We shall see. I have signed the copyright clearance forms, so it might yet happen. Will just have to wait until the end of September to find out.