Saturday, 7 August 2010

Apart from that, the journey went quite well

I drive to Wales and pick up Squirrel from her home on a mountainside.

That sounds easier than it was. In reality I fall out of bed at 5.30am, throw coffee over my face, stagger into my trousers, pee down my own leg, throw more coffee over the floor, then exit the house backwards.

That sequence of events takes place after I have checked all my handover plans are working with Dig. He is arriving back from Hong Kong this very same morning. I insist he must be at home when Shark and Tiger wake up, because I'm not taking them with me to Wales.

So Dig, when your plane lands, spin the earth back on its axis by two hours. Then you can make time to wrestle with London Midland and arrive home for 9am. I will be on the M5. But imagine the lovely awakening your daughters will have! After not seeing you for a month the kids will think I have become suddenly hairy, gone bellywise, and grown more stubble. Mama! What a big surprise!

After more coffee and reassurance that London Midland has not exploded overnight, I set about driving to Wales. And I am a woman with a mission. You can leave me in charge of a vehicle that can kill me! Sure I can drive! I can do that! I just carry on drinking as much thick black coffee as my face can hold.

By the eighth mug I am a howler monkey on speed. I'm swinging from those tree tops quicker than you can count. Just one more slurp of the wizard black treacle should do the trick and keep me going until 2012.

So I pull off outside some house somewhere in the middle of nowhere at 8am. Stupidly, I think it is OK to park here. It's 8am on a Saturday morning and I plan to take ten minutes to pump that juicy fluid into my veins then make the ascent into Welsh. Only at 8.02 some hairy farmer bloke looms over my driver window, taps on the glass, and says he's seen me from his kitchen window, and can I move the car, because he wants to keep his garage access clear.

Move my car? By two foot? Look matey, I woke up at 5am, navigated a distant husband, arranged a military manoeuvre to salvage a Squirrel from a mountaintop, reversed Planet Earth, and drove two hours on the motorway while brain-fuelled on roast Colombia. Sure I can move my car! Just so you can see your poxy garage!

By rights there should be a hairy farmer bent double somewhere behind a hedge in Worcester with tyre tracks over his face.

But it was just another moment in a long and arduous journey I made to see my lovely Squirrel, fresh from her PGL adventure, and listen to her chatter all the way home about how to lunge at your enemy with a pointed stick.


sharon said...

Hey, that must be one for the diary - a long car trip with no punch-ups in the back seat. I am of course assuming Squirrel didn't pick a fight with herself to demonstrate the stick poking technique!

Hairy Farmer Family said...

Wasn't us, I promise! Next county along...