Thursday December 21, 2006
We’re having a Great Fog here in mainland Britain. It’s been on for a couple of days now, and is likely to last a couple more yet. Not too much of a muchness unless you’re sitting in an airport waiting for short-haul and domestic connecting flights. Then it’s hell, decorated with tinsel.
For Graham and me it’s been no more than a minor irritation. He’d hoped to be able to make one last trip up to IKEA but when we woke this morning the fog was too thick for non-essential motorway travel so we decided, reluctantly, against.
So, feeling a little weary after a restless night’s sleep, I turned over and went back to sleep. Woke at about eleven thirty, listened to the radio weather forecast, gazed out of the window and yelled down to Graham: “You wanna go to IKEA?”
“You don’t mean it?”
“Yes I do. I feel pretty good after my long sleep, the fog’s lifted between here and Bristol, so why not?”
“But it’s far too late for breakfast.”
“I’ll survive. Besides, we’ll be in plenty of time for lunch.”
The drive was astonishingly smooth, only fifty-one minutes door to door. We were keeping our eyes open for fog banks rolling in but the road was clear all the way, and the traffic relatively light and completely well-behaved. Makes a nice change, does that. British motorists are not, I’m ashamed to say, known for their tolerance and good manners.
Lunch was good, and our pass through the store completely successful. Graham’s very keen to be sure he has everything ready for the post-holiday house-straightening binge he has planned and these were the last pieces we need from IKEA. All that’s outstanding is the paint, and that can come from our local DIY stores as the project demands.
I did very well, too, with legs and energy levels running smooth and easy right up to the very last minute. Then I announced my need to sit down, and took myself past the check-out to seek a seat in the customer returns area where I waited for Graham to join me.
We were obliged to stop off in the hypermarket next to IKEA and I rushed that operation as far as I possibly could. It was getting dark by then, shortly after four o’clock, and it looked suspiciously as though the fog might be on its way back. In the event we had a pretty good run home, heavy traffic but only a couple of small fog banks until we got near to the end of the journey when the fog closed in well and truly. I heaved a big contented sigh as we pulled up outside the house.
“There you are,” I said. “Job jobbed.”
“And very well jobbed, too.”
Why are these humans surrounding us with bits of card?
Dunno. Just be grateful you’re not a turkey