Sunday 10th March 2019

The weekend was to be several hours short this week, as I needed to be in place at eight on Monday morning, to participate in inspections. So, all the stuff we usually do on a Sunday but reduced by five hours, then with added M25 traffic. But at the end of the day, I would be staying in a luxurious country pub/hotel on a private estate.

So, made up for being away 5 days.

Up at half six, coffee, feed the cats, then watch the football.

Outside, it’s a glorious day, but windy, and getting windier by the minute, so much so that the trip out planned was cancelled, as I follow the local railway company reporting numerous trees on the lines.

Jools does some gardening, I write and edit shots whilst listening to the radio.

The morning passes, with the bare trees out the back bent over by the gale force westerlies.

I cook lunch; burgers, egg noodles and stir fry vegetables. I call it low carb crossover.

It is full of flavour, and fairly healthy. Talking of which, I lost four more pounds that week, with a three course meal in the hotel in Hamburg too. So, not too bad.

Jools snoozes in the afternoon, while I listen to football on the radio.

But at four, with the wind having dropped, and the Arsenal v Man Utd game about to start, I pack and load the car, say goodbye to Jools and begin the three hour drive to the New Forest.

As usual, up the M20, which is now nearly ready to be a lorry park in under three weeks, half of it will be a lorry park, whilst the London bound side has been turned into a four lane car park.

I have the radio on, and it makes the journey go by quickly, it even makes me drive at a sensible speed, not rushing to get to the New Forest. Arse score, but it seems even enough, and entertaining.

Travelling up the roadworks at 50 is such a grind, the car only just pulls in 6th gear.

Onto the M25 as darkness begins to fall, and dark clouds gather in the west and rush over the sky. Lightning flashes, and as the sun sets there is an orange streak on the western horizon, making it seem like the end of the world.

Then, rain began to hammer down, turning the motorway into a lake.

Down the M3 and into the night, traffic gets lighter as I go further south. I skirt round Southampton, and enter the New Forest, and in the darkest of nights, cross the moorland to the village of Beaulieu.

Beaulieu is a village owned by the local landowning minor member of the upper class, Lord Montagu, therefore the pub is called the Montagu Ams. The village is picture postcard lovely, but there is the nagging thought that one man owns all this, and everyone is a tenant. I think. I think that’s right. All the houses have the same style of font and sign sytyle with the family’s three diamond heraldic symbol on it.

I park in front of the hotel, and get my case out and walk into the hotel.

Good evening sir, your colleague has arrived and has been asking about you. I was told.

Odd, as I was here on my own.

Who’s that?

Mr Pedersen.

Hmmm, I know about a dozen of those, so not much help.

Turns out to be a guy I have been writing to for the last month in lieu of the story of the blades. Which I won’t bore you with.

Anyway, we meet in the restaurant next door, also owned by the good Lord.

I have fish and chips and leave almost all the chips, as they are dirty carbs. I do have a pint though.

And it was good.

The porter takes my case full of my working coat and steel toe capped shoes to my luxury room, where I then make it very untidy.

It’s my job.

And so ended a not so usual Sunday, me tucked up in bed under a goosedown duvet.