Wednesday 4th November 2020

The last day of "normality" this month.

Nomal is a relative term, we can't just go out for a meal, go down the pub or the cinema to see a film. But tomorrow all places of entertainment, places to eat out and socialise will be closed.

And so on this important day, I will be spending twelve hours, at least, driving.

I wake up just before four. Scully is sleeping beside me, gently snoring. I check the time, I have five minutes before the alarm goes off, so lay there and think of the journey ahead.

Me and my big mouth.

When it was explained that Sylv wanted to go back hme and that Jools couldn't really get time off ust when she started back at work, so I said I would drive. Which is why I was getting up at five past to get dressed, feed the cats, make coffee and check the traffic news before leaving the house, under cover of darkness to drive to pick up Jen and Sylv, as Jen was coming as she had no seen Sylv's new house, and would like to come along for the trip.

OK.

We had loaded the car the night before, they just had to be ready. We did a final check of masks, purses, door keys, phones and check that Sylv had her new post code written down. All done, we could leave.

Jen had also made lots of sandwiches for us to munch on so we needn't spend too much money in service stations on the way.

So we left Dover in darkness as the moon had set already. We left up the A2 in light traffic, and Sylv in the back seat among her possessions and baggae being unusually quiet.

We turned down the A249 to Maidstone to get back onto the M20, so easier to head west towards Heathrow on the way to Oxford.

We made good time, and the Audi ate the miles up. I had the radio on quiet, turning it up when something good was played. Oh Superman by Laurie Anderson came on. I loved that track, and have not heard it in years.

Sylv didn't like it. At all. So I had to explain about Anderson, performance art and how John Peel played it and it becoming a hit. Like explaining quantum theory to a cat.

Just don't play it again, I was told.

The sky lightened as we sped through Surrey and towards Heathrow. The sky had few planes taking off; in normal tmes one would take off every 30 seconds or so. Just one plane took off as we approached and passed.

Traffic was getting heavy, but we turned off at the next junction to start to go north, at first to Oxford.

Aah, Oxford, all dreaming spires and sleepy quadrangles, many years has it been since I have wandered your streets and got parking tickets from your over-zealous enforcers. I have only ever received two parking tickets, both in Oxford. I have been there just twice.

We press on, and the sun rises, I see its reflection in the rear view mirror, blinding me. At least it wasn't raining. In fact the forecast was great for the whole country.

But it seems no one told Manchester.

All the way up I was joking about the dreadful weather in the city. It is infamous for having much rain, but on this glorious autumnal day, surely it would be wonderful in Manchester too?

We reached Birmingham, turned back east to pick up the M6 north, then onto the toll road, where traffic was almost non-existant. We stopped at the services and to fill up the car, the sky was deep blue and was warming up, though frost could be seen in fields and in shadows of trees.

Back in the car and back on the road. I munch on a bag of paprika crisps as I drive, past Stafford and into the roadworks.

It is slow going, but once had programmed the sat nav with Sylv's address, we find we had just over an hour to go. We should be there at ten in the morning, in just five hours. How good is that?

We saw a black cloud as we neared the city, and sure enough rain began to fall. In time it got quite heavy, and I had to say sorry for making fun of the weather, but I had been proven right. Again.

We reach Manchester and make our way round the outskirts, past my employer's head office, though I could not visit due to the lockdown. We turn off, drive through a mix of leafy suburbs and red brick back to back terraced houses, under a railway bridge, past Alf Roberts' corner shop, into the new build estate Sylv lives.

And we arrive, one minute past ten.

Sylv is a bit ditzy, she could not open the door to her flat: I only usually use one lock when I go out, she explains, attracting the attention of the nerdowell smoking a roll up outside the entrace to the block.

Oh my.

She has a nice place, full of nice furniture, pictures of her family. But we had brought a lamp, a blanket box as well as her clothes, and she had had other stuff delivered, having failed into account of how much space the box or the book shelves would take up. We put the box at the bottom of her bed, and there wasn't enough room to get by.

Oh my.

A company had taken over running the parking spaces outside her flat, there were signs everywhere warning of fines for unautherised parking, giving me an excuse to say we had to leave.

We say goodbye and pass on a cuppa (she had brought milk from Kent), and Jen and I are walking to the car saying goodbye all the time. We close the doors and are gone.

On the way into Manchester I had seen huge queues waiting to leave for the centre, blocking the motorway, so I say we could take the M62 over the moors to Leeds and then south down the A1. And, I joked, as soon as we get to Saddleworth the rain will stop and the clouds will clear.

We drive out of Manchester and begin the long slow climb to the moor, and indeed as we near the summit, the clouds do part and the sun shines once again. Yorkshire looked glorious, with views down onto Huddesfield and other towns as we powered east before turning sout down the M1.

I guessed this was wrong, but still where it met the M6 we could pick up the A14 east as planned.

We cruised south, through Sheffield, Nottingham, Derby and Northampton, turning off once we reached the A14, and on we zoomed.

We were making such good time, we began to guess what time we would be back in Dover; half three seemed reasonable.

We crossed the A1, onto Cmbridge them down the M11 towards Stanstead Airport.

All was going well until we reached where the A11 from Norwich was about to join, and traffic stopped dead.

Never a good sign when it is a dead stop, not gradual. We stop, I turn the engine off, and check Google Maps, and find that traffic is stationary for 5 miles. Local news reports that a lorry is on fire.

We would be stuck for a while.

Indeed, after an hour, we start to move, slowly at forst, past two smaller accidents, then a lorry blocked one of the two lanes to protect another crashed Range Rover in the fast lane. Once past that, we were back up to seventy, and made great time south. Past the shell of the burnt out truck and a poor single policeman on duty guarding it.

We turn onto the M25, drive towards Dartford and the bridge to Kent.

As we crossed over the Thames, the sun sank in the west, we would just make it back in some daylight. I wasn't in the mood to pussyfoot round, so put my foot down and we leaped off down the A2 to Canterbury and home, getting back at half four, just as dusk was falling.

Jools made a brew, and we feasted on cheap Bourbon buscuit knock offs, they were fabulous, even slightly stale and soft. The sugar rush was great. Jools came once she had finished work, driving Jen's car. We chatted, but I wanted to get home, so we leave.

Back home, the cats are fed and I warm up a defrosted bowl of ragu, boil some pasta and in 20 minutes we have dinner.

I am pooped.

We listen to some radio, I write a bog, so at nine I am done, we go to bed.

I sleep like a sleepy thing only can.