Sunday 14th May 2917

The big day.

For some years I have been in contact and made friends with a good chap from NZ called Tony. To cut a long story short, he is coming over to stay with us and to partake in our adventure to the frozen north when we rent a cottage on Saturday. And this weekend, on Sunday, he arrived, so we were off to collect him from the airport. He was due to arrive in the middle of the afternoon, and so by the time he cleared immigration, got his case back and got through customs, we might seem him before midnight. Hopefully sooner.

But, instead of driving just to the airport, I thought we might do some other stuff beforehand, in short: a village pub and church. I looked online, and near to Leatherhead was a village called Mickleham. It had a nice looking pub, and opposite was a good looking church. So, with the destination set, we just had to while away the morning until it was time to leave.

Needless to say, as the Premier League season hasn't finished, there was more MOTD to watch, bacon to cook and butties to eat. And blog posts to write, giving the clouds which covered the sky when we got up to be swept away by the keen breeze. All was ready in the house, the bed ding washed and bed made, towels and flannel in place, and a fridge full of food. All we needed was Tony.

At half ten we climbed into the car for the drive up the motorway and then along the M25. I have written about this trip so much, up through Folkestone, Ashford past Maidstone and then head west for the M25. Traffic got heavier, and although it wasn't too bad, there was no digital radio in the hire car so we couldn't listen to Radio 6. Anyway, Jools and I could talk, she could play on her laptop, and I could complain about all the other drivers and their crappy driving. Kept me occupied.

We drove from Kent into Surrey, the traffic getting thicker and stupider. So it goes, so it goes.

At Leatherhead we finally turn off, and take a main road through a stunningly beautiful leafy valley towards Box Hill. Turning off, we are in the main street of the village. Parking was no problem, so we stop on the side of the road.

By now the weather was really stunning, the sky was like an episode of The Simpsons, so we walk up to the pub, check out the menu, and decide, upon reflection we would be happy for them to serve us food.

St Michael and All Angles stands opposite, with a square, squat rower with a small spire, and I could see that the door in the tower was already open. So, we go in.

Inside was a heavily victorianised church, but with enough original charm to be enjoyable It featured some nice arts and crafts windows, but I could find no maker's mark on the glass. Decrypting the history of the building was hard, what with blocked doors, arches and the such. But snapping in a church again, I am happy enough.

Five past midday meant it was five past opening time, so once I had my shots we go over to the pub take a picnic table outside and order Welsh Rarebit and a beer/cider. Yes, this is living alright.

Around us, others are eating and drinking, whilst the waiters, dressed in starched shirts, fuss around, making sure we had all we needed. If I am honest, no matter how good the food and service was, eighteen quid for glorified cheese on toast, but hey, I'm on me holibobs.

We eat up, drink up, and I reckon we still have an hour to kill, so we select a random name from the next signpost we see, and go there, looking for a church to photograph. We end up in Little Bookham, Greater Bookham apparently having no church, but after seeing a small sign pointing to the church, we find ourselves in a very posh dead end street, there is a parking area, and behind a line of lime trees, a path leads to a small stone church with a white wooden bellcote.

And it is open.

Inside it is fine, another heavily restored church, but with interesting blocked arches in the south side and an unusual stone fint painted white.

I snap the church, and then checking the time it is time to head to the airport. Now, long gone are the days when there would be endless waits with no news of the flight landing hours ago and no sign of anyone from it, there are information boards, and live updates on the web. And even the car parks are good, just next to the terminal, a short walk over the sky bridge to the arrivals hall, where we find a cafe that served decent coffee and had tables to sit at and good service. Amazing really.

Jools and I guess when he would come through; I say an hour and a half, she says 45 minutes. And as it turned out, Jools was nearest as he came through after 50 minutes. And was looking all calm and relaxed. Apparently had had had a shower in Dubai and a change of clothes. And slept well too. Whatever next?

We walk back to the car, pay to get our ticket validated, so we can leave, which meant we could make our way onto the M4 once we had got throug the airport traffic, and then turn onto the orbital motorway again, hoping that the accidents we saw earlier had been cleared. I mean, its never pleasant driving on the M25, but it gets to to where you are going, and again we had no hold ups, and once past the road south to Brighton and Gatwick, traffic was much lighter. So much lighter that my the time we got into Kent, I was almost enjoying driving again.

he sky cleared as we drove south past Maidstone, Tony loved the colours of the fields, now a lush green in colour.

We arrived in Dover about half five, time to have a brew once we had parked, Tony unpacked, and as a treat for his first meal in England, I made chorizo hash, of course. What were you expecting? Tony had brought me beer and Jools cider, so we had these to accompany dinner.

We kidded ourselves that it was warm enough to sit outside; it wasn't really, but the view was good as was the company. We have ice cream for supper, peanut butter flavour, before tiredness to us to our beds. As tomorrow would be another exciting day.