Mighty cider

So - off I scuttled on my little Southern oddessy; many parts of the plan would end up flushed, leaving a very sawn off schedule remaining but it was very enjoyable anyway. Popped down to see my mate Ellie and meet her new fella, who doesn't trip off any of my very highly tuned "instant arsehole" sixth sense detectors, so there's a nice change there; good conversation ensues, plus houseplant management tips. Her folks were down too though; lovely as they are (and they are), it kind of scuppered Plan A which involved taking a drinky or two on board and kipping on the sofa, so when the appropriate time came, I scuttled off down the motorway for a certain distance before I found an appropriate service station with a Days Inn hotel attached to it that - being almost an honorary Yorkshireman, I took one look at, pursed my lips, zipped up my wallet tight and slept in the car instead.

A grim night... woke several times to gale force winds battering the car, and to clouds of driving rain like I remember Oban, on the west Scottish coast when I went there as a kid in the late seventies. Still managed to get more sleep in a reclined driving seat than I have in my bed all week, which can't be bad. Up with the larks... well, would be if it weren't for the fact that they're an endangered species now - how did that happen; into the services for a large Latte coffee for breakfast served to me by an entirely Eastern European staff (it's true you know, I'd read about the changing service industry demographic but I'd never believed it) and hit the road again.

Here's where more plans change. Bren, who I'd intended to catch up with again was out of the country; Simone's wasn't taking visitors due to the aftermath of a drinks bender the night previously and the Mosquito Aircraft Museum at Colney was closed for the winter, so I headed to Surrey earlier than I intended. Got onto the M25 from the M40 at just short of five to ten. It struck me that for the first time in an age I was driving without pressure and that was a nice suprise. Just bimbling along at a happy sixty miles per hours, and for once going somewhere without a specific deadline on a nice morning, no requirement to drive like a bat out of hell, no stress, no grinding at other motorists and it suddenly struck me just how different and refreshing that felt.

Feelings about being back in the south of england were complicated and a little ambigous... it's crowded and complicated and I can't make head nor tail of the maps, but I love the cosmopolitan nature of it. At the same time I bought the Saturday paper, discovered I'd gotten the London suppliments, not the northern editions and found myself somehow disappointed. Maybe a weeks leave in London is in order so I can learn to hate it properly again. Chewed over the news. Litvinenko. I feel sorry for the guy. In a lot of ways he was an open class obsessive and a prime fuckwit, but he was clearly into something with his work or he wouldn't have been deemed worth killing. Just a shame that Joe public isn't capable of pronouncing his surname, otherwise we might turn him into a folk hero just for the hell of it.

Farnham. A nice town. Just nipped in for a cashpoint, but as they had a Waitrose, on a whim I popped in, hoping to find a box of those Sammy's couscous cuppasoups that I used to get in the Harrogate one. No joy , maybe they're no longer produced 'coz it was only myself and FLoH who ever bought them, but it doesn't matter as I seem to have gone slightly whoopy in there anyway. I often do. I seem to view some quality grocery stores as other men view electrical gadget shops, a bit daft but that's the boy in me; as I used to be unsafe to be allowed in a shooting supplies shop with my own credit card, now you can't let me loose in a good farmshop or quality off license. Another Traminer to try, which no doubt being a Waitrose will be very nice, even if it does have a screw cap. And it's a pound cheaper than ASDA's equivalent, go figure. What was also slightly concerning was that they do Bison Vodka four quid cheaper than BeerRitz. Now, that's annoying. Anyway, Farnham's lovely. A bit like Harrogate but a little less developed. It's full of nice people, nice well dressed well behaved children and most importantly, no Codheads in sight. Of course, the only problem is that I can't even afford a garden shed down there, so that's that little idea scuppered. Never mind. Nice place anyway.

Eventually got to my final destination, the hospitable home of my good bud and one third of QBMCC, Ginger Chris and his lovely partner Sally; a quick trip to the bathroom to freshen up from the journey, and it's up to the award winning Crossways pub for a few quality bevvies and tasty butchers burger and chips for lunch, prior to wandering back to have a few more tasty beers in front of the Rugby, to which I can only say Wales, "oh dear". And digressing for just a moment, I see my lot, Harrogate were stuffed too. "Oh dear". Never mind, the plan for the evening has curry stains on it, and after a short stop off for myself and Chris to change into special evening shirts (!!!!), and for Sal to make us walk twenty yards behind her, we wandered off to the vindahouse for just the right balance of main course, bread, veggie dishes to fill without bloating and leaving no room for pub entertainment. Having had curry, heavy beer wasn't the order of the day so we attacked the Biddenden's cider with the appropriate balance of enthusiasm for it, and respect for it's well known devious spirit and sheer lunacy. Devious in that you'll glug quite a lot of it in the mistaken belief that it's nice and light and tasty, then discover your legs stopped working a pint ago. Wobbled back to base for nightcaps of the naughty schnappes I'd brought with me - who says I never bring anything to the party.

A gentle sort of day follows; a certain amount of respect has to be given to the god of hangovers, but as we debated, we're not getting any younger, we don't hit the pubs like lunatic teens and we know when to stop. Generally, when we pass out. Once again, I'm accused of breaking Chris; once again I'd better plead guilty to that. It has to be said, whenever we get together it tends to be a big one, but a nice one. A perfect weekend of a nice gentle boozy Saturday and a rare lazy Sunday with bloody good mates. Spot on.

Eventually, in the late afternoon I leave Surrey and head north for what the computer says should be a fast four hour drive up the M25 to parts northern; unfortunately, it fails to factor in... and in fact, how can it... the long hold up caused by an eight car accident somewhere in Buckinghamshire. Never mind. It's been a bloody good weekend; I feel generally positive about life in general and the things I have to do, the question is, how long will it last when I get back to Grim?