Minehead. It's a long way from here. Five hours in the car with wife and kids, which in the real world equates to listening to Heart FM whilst simultaneously being forced to watch Eastenders and eat McDonalds food for 30 days straight. I'm filing this for Patent as a means of torture with the UN before anyone else gets the idea.
So, scene set. We were to spend the weekend there, starting early in the 'let's get round the M25 to the M3 before all those Mondeos and BMW cock series cars clog it up' kind of early. We made it too, rolling our ride by 7am, heading west. Oh no, hang on, the M25 was a TRAFFIC JAM about junction 10. Someone had crashed somewhere whilst doing something other than paying attention. Whilst crawling along at 10mph or so, the centre lane looked stuck solid more than ours, the reason? You know the answer already, yes, an Audi had stuffed his soppy cheap disco rope lit front end up the arse of some old bloke (well, his car anyway) who in turn was far to close to the car in front of him. Whallop! Three insurance claims. Thanks chaps, we all appreciate the rise in costs.
Then, it got better. No really! Stopping at Little Chef on the A303 at the wonderfully named Barton Stacey it was clear to see that Heston Bloomingthing had never even visited one. Apart from the level of service you'd expect, the bacon I had in my Olympic Breakfast (£7.99) would be best used as the sole on a running shoe. Maybe that's the connection...........I think the 1930's style investigator Barton Stacey should investigate.
Minehead found. Welcome cup of tea at friend's house then checked in at The Gascony hotel. One family room, top floor. Sorted. Nice room. Two single beds for kids, one double for two short in stature adults. Laura Ashley had clearly been the room's previous occupant. The toilet did give a nice view of the high street though, so all was not lost provided the net curtain at the window did it's job whilst I was doing mine. The most outstanding piece of English Hotel Design came in the form of the shower which I was to experience the following morning. Shower in bath job, loose curtain around bath so the water could run onto the carpeted floor. The dribbly shower head helped there as the water ran down the hose, around the mixer tap and formed a neat puddle. Hmmm, the shower head. Now, I'm all for equality but getting a dwarf on tiptoe to mount the shower head bracket at the limit of his or her (equality rules still) reach was a bit too much. Luckily, by bending at the knee a little and contorting slightly I could effectively rinse my armpits, one at a time. Pressure. Sometimes it's a good thing, especially in domestic plumbing.
We ate well. Three fried breakfasts, one HUGE stew followed by a dessert that should induce instant heart failure at 50 feet (Thanks Michelle!) one very good Chinese meal and the best bangers and mash I've eaten for ages, albeit in the weirdest restaurant I've ever visited. It felt like we'd gatecrashed someone's wedding reception, all large round tables, empty but for the table cloth. Nice beer though.
Weekend over. Car packed. Goodbyes said. Road hit. Traffic hit. M25 crawled. Home by 9:30. Almost. A jolly nice friend of mine had borrowed my own little car to visit a car show as his had broken and we did the return exchange at 10pm Sunday night. Unfortunately for him the car had decided to blow it's head gasket (that's next to the suck valve for any girls reading) part way home and he felt guilty for it. Silly boy. I'll delight in taking it to bits and fitting new parts, they are already ordered of course! Tinker time!!
Blog out.
"Suck valve" *snigger*
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