Monday 7th November 2022

Once upon a time, I used to travel with work all the time. One year it was 38 different trips.

It was normal, I suppose.

But it drained me, mentally and physically.

And then came COVID and my change in role, and travel became much less common. So rare now, its almost a pleasure to be away.

Almost.

We got up at ten past five. We had slept long, and various cats were indicating it was breakfast. Jools was still COVID positive, so was to work from home again, but I would be away, she could have the table and spare screen all to herself.

The rain of the weekend continued, and if anything came down even harder. So that rather than drop me in town, Jools dropped me off at the car hire office, me dodging the storm get get inside.

Everyone was nice, but I had a half hour wait for the car, so sat watching the rain hammer down outside, and rush hour traffic out on Townwall Street inch past. The car was ready, a black sporty Peugeot thing, with retro looking switches rather than buttons and dials. But I soon got it, so after signing off the agreement, I climbed in and drove back along Reach Road back home.

Already the road was partially flooded in three places, so I inched the car through the floods and reached home, where I had breakfast with Jools, then packed, booked the ferry crossing and loaded the car.

Traffic was awful out there; protesters had blocked several sections of the M25, but a tweet said it was back open, so thought I would give it a try to get to Southampton.

All was OK all the way through Kent, even if rain did fall in heavy showers, but onto the M25, and within two miles traffic was stationary. Rain fell in sheets, and we inched forward, taking an hour to get to the services and into Surrey.

Traffic did begin to move again, but the delay did mean I would not make the half one ferry, and the one at three was full, so should I try to get on, or find somewhere to while away three hours?

I reached the M3, turned off and headed south. I decided to stop at Fleet Services, and have lunch. A proper lunch, sitting down at a table to eat and everything. Amazingly, the place was full of people, I'm guessing off coaches, and most seemed to be of a certain age, and a few needing frames to walk along. I watched as they tried to order a cuppa from the Burger King app.

You're never too old.

I went to Starbucks, where it is Holiday time, so have my annual flavoured latte, eggnog this time, but with an extra shot, to go with the paninni.

I watched people as I ate, its a hobby. And free.

I realised I could not spend another two hours here, so decided to drive to the ferry port and try to get on the earlier sailing.

A half hour run through yet more heavy rain and into the city, rushing to get through before schools empty out and road clogged with cars.

Which I do.

I arrive at the terminal, drive up to the booth, and my boarding pass was issued, for the three o'clock sailing, no questions asked. No arguments needed.

IN fact, through the driving rain, I saw the ferry approach, and we all waited to board. All vehicles got on, there was even room for many more too, so not sure why no tickets had been available online......

I took a seat in the lounge, until the relentless coughinh of the couple next to me drove me to the bracing fresh air out on deck, where even in November, it wasn't that cold.

I feast on a pack of salt n vinegar crisps and supped from a bottle of Cherry Coke as we sailed across the Solent, and the change in direction as we turned for Cowes set all the car alarms off below.

As usual.

In Cowes, the floating bridge/chain ferry was working, so I waited in line to get over the river, then drive the half mile to the hotel.

Back again.

The hotel is half empty, and because of yet more rain falling, I book a table in the hotel for dinner. Up in my room I unpack the laptop and check on the world. Its still screwed, so I put on some music and edit some shots.

Hotel dining rooms are a delight in themselves. Devoid of atmosphere, the awkward silences broken by the scraping of cutlery or an apology for spilling some gravy. The two young ladies behind me had clearly failed to read the hotel rules, and guzzled wine and talked loudly about nail polish and the such.

A different life.

I had fried brie followed by a burger. I was all very adequate.

Back in my room I listened to Ipswich in the FA Cup, or some of it, via a link to BBC Berkshire, where the commentary sounded like three pub bores at the Black Duck, laughing among themselves while the barmaids winces.

I fell asleep, only to wake when it was all over.