Thursday April 27, 2006
“I think they call that a power nap,” I said as we woke from a thirty minute doze in the car, parked at the Chorley Wood service area on the M42, somewhere in Warwickshire so far as I know.
“Well, you’re looking snappy enough,” Graham yawned.
Dolly gave us a soft ‘yawwr’ from her travel box postioned high up behind us so’s she could keep watch on us and the changing views.
“You’re right, Dolly,” I said. “Silly name. Why they had to change it from cat nap I shall never understand.”
She favoured us with another ‘yawwr’, and snuggled up for another good snooze.
“Sensible cat,” I said. “I need to stretch my legs. Shall I bring some coffee back?”
And so, another paper cup of mediocre motorway coffee, another stop on the long, horribly congested route from Lincolnshire to Somerset, and off we went again, pressing onward, ever onward, the miles clicking away, and life in the little house by the fens seemed to fade as we went, along with memories of the gigantic cleaning session we stayed late this morning to complete. I hope the new owners will love living there as much as we did.
We took another stop, in Gloucestershire, and then plunged off again. In spite of the congestion, and in spite of having to endure three extended traffic jams, we were well into Somerset when a little warning light glowed on the dash. I peered at it, and groaned.
“We’re running low on petrol.”
“Oh, there’s enough to get us to the petrol station at the Bridgwater Sainsbury’s but I hate driving with that little light threatening me.”
I slowed our pace to a modest, fuel-conserving 55 mph, in the slow lane, pottered through the last few miles of motorway, and pulled off on the slip road signposted for Wells, Glastonbury, and Bridgwater.
We made it to the petrol station with no problem, and I set to filling the tank while Graham popped over to the supermarket for our dinner supplies, and off we set once more along the A39 to West Quantoxhead. We were blessed with a majestic sunset as we drove, fading slowly until it dipped to intersect the horizon just as we pulled up alongside the caravan.
“Home again, home again, diggety-dog,” Graham said. “Well done, chooky-boots.”
“Thanks, but I think we all done well,” I said. “Particularly Dolly.”
“That’s a fact. She’s been a little hero all the way.”
We were all three of us mightily pleased it was done. We unloaded the car, shut the door, and let Dolly out for a good stretch and a long-overdue meal. Graham set to the task of stowing all our stuff away and, after making tea, I was lodged in a corner with my laptop and told to stay out of the way.
I stuck the Vodafone card in the slot and attempted to connect to the Internet only to find there was insufficient signal for the thing to function. Disappointing, but I’ll see what can be done about that tomorrow. Or over the weekend. It’s important, but not as much so that it can’t wait until I have time and brain power sufficient to the task.
For now the important thing is that we’re here, safe and sound, and living in Somerset once more. It’s good to be back.