Operation Southern Santa

Maybe a bit of waste of petrol with hindsight, but none the less, an attempt to do the sociable thing when christmas has been knackered by illness and work. Was supposed to be spending what quality time I had down south in hometown, catch as many friends as I can and do the family thing, but as it turned out, boxing day was all that was left. Which involves a 150 mile drive, not a lot of time spent doing quality things and then another 150 mile drive before I'm back at work in the morning of the 27th. This sort of insanity is a speciality of the house.

Leaving at an early hour would have been advantageous. Hey ho. Never mind. Present wrapping took priority. Most folks have had time to do this. Me, I've been lurgied. So hit the road later than I would have liked and the first thing I noticed was that the lorries are back. On boxing day. Don't the bastards rest? Ban them, kill them. Get rid of the fat wastes of fuel. They hold me back. Grrrrrr!!!! Adopt the continental policy! And abolish the speed limits for Goldie Lookin' Cars while you're at it. But not for Silver Yaris's (what is the plural of Toyota Yaris? Yaris's? Yarisi?), since one decided to change lanes through me. Attempted a left hand turn at a roundabout from the right hand land and his chosen method was to accellerate through the back of the person occupying the left hand lane, and that was me. Thank heavens for defensive driving skills, and the fact that I don't routinely carry weapons in my car, I don't need that crap. Got enough of my own. Thanks.

Rooks everywhere. Grey skies. Bare trees. Fading light. Reminicent of dogwalking days. This means you're back in Suffolk. It's border country with the badlands of Naaarfolk. And here comes a slow moving mobile home. They're all out today. Everyone who wants to bimble and mess around comes out to play on boxing day. Why is it that I who pay road tax must be delayed, frustrated, by dickweeds who's main preoccupation in life is to be too fat and lazy and stupid to put a tent up? Why can't my bike be working so I can leave him in dust? At least he wasn't dutch, the mobile homes those pot smoking, mountain ignorant, liberal bastards drive are simply enormous. Anyway, by means of cleverness and subtle application of the right foot, managed to stay ta-ta's to my cloggie companion, which was nice, then hit a nice long stretch of duel carriageway, first stop Felixstowe.

Due to the vaguaries of the service, the Felixstowe office isn't open on boxing day, and doesn't have an external post box - why would it, when it was built, it was built for 24 / 7 / 365 operation, why modify just because the service changes. Sheesh. So my mate Floyd has to do without his christmas card this year. Then a flying visit to my buddy K, christmas present for the delivery of.... one of my very few present buying moments of genius, that was and it went down well. Then off to hometown... a flying visit to the postbox of my old office in the town centre, delivery of a great big bundle of cards for the use of (you can tell who left it too late to get it in the official messenger, can't you); then off to see the family for veggie scoff and loot. And all too soon it's time to head off north again in the dark, and you begin to question the sanity of the trip in the first place. Screw it. It's necessary, good and the sort of daft thing that keeps me feeling alive. Made decent time down, considering the obstructions and made very good time back, arriving alert, in a good mood and ready for my pit. Can't be bad. Not so happy about the eight mile trip to work in the morning of course, but I guess it's my turn in the barrel. And it means I've got more leave for next year, yay!!