Monday 9th October 2023

At least, I said to Jools, we didn't have to be up at half four so I could catch the train from Ashford.

Instead we could lollygag around the house until gone half six, so Jools could drop me off on the prom, giving me an hour to kill before the car hire place opened.

It was still warm. Warm enough, just, to be in just a t shirt, even at dawn.

I wandered, snapping and taking panos here and there. I'll soon get bored with them, so no fears.

I amble to New Bridge, down the underpass, under the busy A20 on Townwall Street, and to the not new St James Development, where Greggs was open and my mouth asked for two warm sausage rolls and a coffee.

I eat those in silence, then walk to the Enterprise office, where they were just opening up. I was given a Corsa automatic, which I didn't know they made, so drove off back home for breakfast and to pack.

I had a five and a half hour drive, if the sat nav was to be believed, so I drove up the A2 past Faversham, Rochester to Dartford, where there was some traffic leading into the tunnel, and some queuing in it, but out the other side into sunny Essex, along to the M11 and begin the trip north.

Traffic was light enough to make driving just about enjoyable, warm sunshine, light winds too.

Glorious.

Then west onto the A14.

It was 33 years ago when the first version of this road was opened, bit by bit, replacing the old A45. I used to drive in shuttling between RAF Cosford and home in Lowestoft until I was posted to Marham.

It has now had extra lanes added in some places, and where to joins the M1 and M6 where they part, there is now a huge junction rather than a simple roundabout.

Up the M6 then, joining the M6 Toll, stopping at the services there, which used to be so quiet, but this time were very busy. So I bought a sandwich, some crisps and a bottle of Coke, then sat outside in the sunshine to eat and people watch.

From there is was a cruise up the M6 to the edge of Manchester, then west into Wales, into the setting sun.

I was last at the Springfield Hotel the week when the pandemic really hit, checking out on March 13th 2020, and driving home on almost empty roads as people faced up to the reality of SARS/COVID.

In the meantime they have built a new restaurant, 32A, its called. Can't imagine why, but the trainspotter in me knew that 32A was the engine shed number for Norwich under British Rail, though that doesn't make me a geek, right?

I check in, mess around online before going down for dinner at half past six, where I order fish and chips, followed by cheesecake and a coffee.

A couple sit on the table next to me, he in his mid 50s, though slim and tanned, unlike me, and she, two decades younger, and wearing underwear as outerwear, as Madonna did 40 years ago.

Is that a thing again?

They order three curses, including steak, wines and cocktails. I pay up and leave, back to the room to chill and get my head down at half nine.

Phew.

Wales: I am in you.