The First Installment

Well, we left on Monday and it’s now Thursday morning and we’ve just woken up in a field surrounded by ponies and birds playing lazer tag. Yep, we’re in the New Forest. And there’s no wifi. 

Ok, so Monday we ventured out, first stop was the garage, to get the car a once- over and find out what that grating noise was before we head out on our epic four hundred mile journey. The garage-man told us that the oil cap was missing and that there was oil all over the engine and that we should probably never drive the car again and that oh yeah that’s the oil cap there just down the side, silly me. So we popped the oil cap back on and the guy still insisted he wouldn’t touch the car. So, holiday dreams shattered, we took the car round the corner to a different garage, to get the oil and filter changed. The guys there didn’t mention a thing. We drove the car home from town and it sounded much better than it did before. And the little blue one has been running like a dream for the past 300 miles so it can’t have been that bad.

While we were waiting for the car to have its procedure, we walked into town and had chips for breakfast. At this point The Boy suggested a ‘Chip Tour’ of Britain. After breakfast we went and retrieved the car, head home, threw everything into the car (however now that we’re camping we’ve discovered that I’ve packed far from everything, in fact I’ve packed pretty much nothing required for camping), and were on our way to Essex. We had planned to pass Leicester and go to the National Space Centre but it’s closed on Mondays. Boo. So we swung by Kegworth to a lovely little pub and restaurant called The Otter. It’s on the river and would have been perfect for a meal out on the pretty decking had it not been peeing it down constantly for the past 24 hours. We had been forecast sunshine this week, but the forecast has recently changed to pretty much constant rain. Le sigh. But lunch was gorgeous, broccoli soup and mackerel, with chorizo and boar burger for The Boy. And the world’s biggest pofiteroles for desert. Then back on the road. 

In bid to see something interesting rather than just drive straight down the M1 we head in the direction of Market Harborough, via the picturesque Mountsorrel. The countryside was beautiful but not much going on. Half way down the A6, just past Leicester, we started to see lots of people in neon orange jackets. They were events security. We were intrigued for a few minutes before we realised it was security for the Olympic Torch. It seemed we had run into its route. Despite this in itself being quite interesting we were pretty adamant we did not want to get stuck in the traffic of the rolling road closures, especially as we were still well over 100 miles away from our intended destination. So we pressed on out of town. We decided that finding a coffee at a cute village somewhere was a good plan. There was a sign to a place called Foxton Lock, boasting not only a Livestock Market but a HMP (which we later realised stood for Her Majesty’s Prison). Lovely. So we got off the main road and no more than a mile into the quaint little lanes we started to see bunting and Olympic promotional material all over. People waiting outside of their houses for the torch to go past, police and signs for rolling roadblocks. We’d driven straight back into the bloody torch route. We were beginning to feel a bit stalked by the Olympics. 

So we drove as fast as was legal back out and on to the main road. Bladder and fatigue forced a quick stop at a garden centre for coffee and mitcturition. From there we started a journey south from Market Harborough via the A roads towards Essex. Since we were not pushed for time we thought we would take the scenic route, but after about two hours driving we weren’t even near Northampton so we made a beeline for the M1 and got to the M25 in the traditional manner. 

Once in Essex the next stop was The Mothership. The two brothers were there so as usual I left the house trying not to wet myself laughing. Mum volunteered two waterproof jackets in exchange for me returning several items I had previously borrowed. It was The Boy’s Dad’s birthday last week so we then went over to the parent in laws’ house for a Chinese take-away and a lovely bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. Relaxed catchup and then bed. The Boy and I used to have to share a tiny single bed at this house, which I swear was thinner than a regular single bed as it was in the box room. A couple of years ago a double bed was purchased for the spare room and things have been much more comfortable, however it is still tempting to sleep like hamsters out of habit. Despite the relative comfort I managed to have lucid nightmares for most of the night. I rarely have nightmares but sometimes when I get very hot I wake up in the night and the nightmares start there. I woke up and looked straight above me to see a deformed hand emanating from the bed and a large tarantula type creature descending towards my face. It was opening and closing its legs like a facehugger. So, naturally, I dove straight under the covers. This is my usual reaction to these kinds of nightmares but it’s a terrible thing to do as it only serves to heat me up further, resulting in further maring, or one time I just passed out. This time I was brave and after a few minutes of convincing myself it was just an hallucination I popped out and the scary things were gone. The room was all horrible shades of grey in the half light and with my crummy eyesight I didn’t look around too much as I’m sure I would have found further monsters. So I grabbed onto the chest-hair next to me for comfort, and after a few minutes managed to find a light sleep.

The next day The Boy’ brother and sister in law popped over with the youngest niece. It was really excellent to see them, little niece was excellent. We wanted to get in some donuts but the nieces aren’t allowed them. I was determined to have donuts for breakfast on my holiday after having started watching Twin Peaks a few days ago, becoming increasingly jealous of Agent Cooper and the spread of little towers of donut pairs. So we left the house around 10am and went to Tesco where I know they stock Krispy Kreme. We bought two each, one ring and one filled. We ate the rings ones for breakfast in the car, but without coffee as black as midnight.

Our next stop was Dad’s house in Kent. It was only about an hour’s drive and Dad had left us a key hidden in a secret-key-hiding-place in the driveway. We let ourselves into the house with instructions that camping equipment had been left for us to take what we needed and not to let the kittens into the living room. The living room was immaculate (Dad and step mum had gone off for a couple of days away) and no sign of camping stuff. In the main room next door there were a few boxes of stuff left out for us, a note saying to take what we needed, a pot plant smashed on the floor, lots of feathers, a couple of bits of small bird anatomy and two very guiltless looking kittens. We cleaned up the mess, I told off the kittens and The Boy played with them a bit, after which he had itchy eyes and a tight chest and I said that if he did insist on rubbing cats on his face then he couldn’t complain. We took two camping lamps, a stove-like-object, an inflatable bed and battery powered pump, a plastic crate to put it all in and I washed up two bowls which I then just left on the draining board. Also a cool box and some blocks that Dad had frozen for us.

Back on the road the next stop was a pub that I have many fond childhood memories of. When I was small Dad would take us on holiday to Grandpa’s house in Seaford and to see our cousins in Shoreham-on-Sea and on the way we would visit a place called The Anchor in Barcombe, near Lewes. The pub itself isn’t too much to write home about but it is on the river Ouse and hires out row-boats. As kids we all piled into a row-boat as a family and paddled our way down the river and back. And as far as I could tell no one actually knew where the pub was, you just had to ’feel’ your way there using your internal compass. I did it once. Five years ago was the last time The Boy and I went on holiday together and we went to Brighton and I felt out the pub and was very chuffed with myself, despite the row-boats being out of season. This time we found it using GPS. Which is technically cheating but since we had a further 500miles ahead of us we didn’t want to do too much floating around.

And we found it and we ate and we hired a boat. We were the only ones there, it was raining but I insisted. He had over-priced but tasty ham and eggs and I had a big baked camembert. It was tasty with a nice glass of white but what I was really interested in was the row-boat. Despite the weird looks from the staff, I hired a row-boat and we set off down the Ouse, in a Mum-lent rain coat, in the drizzle that soon became plain old rain. My silly ballet pump shoes were soaked through; I never did see the point of them as foot wear. But we were on the river. It was scenic, perfectly secluded apart from the odd sheep and we had a short meeting with a swan, who gave us a look of confusion and derision. It was quite a swan-like expression, what on earth are you humans doing on the river in the rain and do you have anything tasty with you, perhaps some bread? The answer to its little face being ‘sorry, no’, it passed by without another word. And we head back to the mooring, tied off the boat ourselves, paid the boat guy and got back in the car with the heating blasting the footwells.

Next stop Brighton. The ethos of this holiday was that we rarely get the opportunity to holiday together and we both have very different tastes in things so we both pick things that we want to do and we just do them together. Row-boats was my choice and my other choice was Boutique Hotel in Brighton. I found one online and booked it about a month ago to get a good deal. We stayed at The Lansdowne, which is a 10minute walk down the beach from the pier, just tucked round a corner. I asked for an upgrade on arrival and we got a king-size room for the price of a double so I was pretty chuffed. I was more chuffed when we saw the room, it was huge. The hotel is also a spa so smells really good. It was relatively plain but beautifully kitted out, boutique on a budget. The building was obviously rescued from decay, with little bits of mould or rot peekng round corners if you looked for it, but the room itself was lush. Clean, en-suite with bath and huge windows which, if you look just down the road, had a view of the sea-front. First thing we did was have a half hour nap. Second thing we did was crack open the bottle of champagne I bought with us to celebrate. To celebrate our time together and to celebrate us getting through my second degree, we cracked open the bottle of champers that Dad got me for graduating the first time. After four years maturing on a shelf and a couple of days in the fridge it tasted fantastic. The taste of success. 

After tasting success, it was destination Brighton night-life. On a Tuesday. And we were hungry and tired. But we walked into town, mooched around the Pavillion in the dusk light and found a sweet little restaurant where I ate sea-bass for £6.95. Garlic bread with huge chunks of garlic and a big glass of not-too-sweet rose, we would both thoroughly recommend Kaydee’s near the pier. We quickly abandoned our intentions to go out raving and misbehaving and instead nipped into a corner shop for a pint of milk so we could continue to drink the complimentary tea in the room. We walked back to the hotel along the seafront, exhausted but happy. Upstairs and into bed. The bed was so big that it was a ship, a new land, a strange soft white field. I pretty much forgot I had a boyfriend in it with me. We could have both set up tents and been neighbours. And I slept like a baby. Not really, I didn’t cry or wet myself once.

Now it’s Thursday night and I’ve written the story up to Tuesday night. We have moved on from the New Forest to a motel near Bath. We have electricity and a comfy bed for the night and I will continue to document our journey after a good night’s sleep.