Roadtripping
A few more details of the Bank Hols trip - if only for the sake of posterity. Picked up a black Mini Cooper in Kingston-upon-Thames on the Saturday morning, departed London via leafy green Hampton Wick, and the less salubrious suburban stretch of west London, towards Heathrow. A hell-hole of nondescript arterial roads and light industrial architecture (50's-thru-80's), souped-up geezer motors moshing and zig-zagging to and from nowhere in particular.
A dead grey sky prevailed over this and the next 60 miles, until we were just a few miles short of our M40 turn-off. We listened to Bran Van 3000, Milo and the 'Suite Sixteen' compilation. I remember singing along with In my arms baby yeah at the service area on the M40. I missed the car-park slip road, so we pulled up in the HGV area. I rolled a number and noticed an entire family was standing on the kerb, munching through an al fresco picnic. The bright yellow number-plates on the nearest car suggested they were Dutch... it kinda figured.
Dropped bags at the surprisingly swanky Falstaff Hotel and then to Paula's. Ellie and Harry opened presents while I had a cuppa and then we all sped off to Stratford. After a river walk the girls went shopping while Harry and I sought out a Green Day CD and killed time pretending to sell Big Issues, sat on the pavement in the warm sun. On the drive home we played Basement Jaxx at insane volume, all laughing our pants off. We jack-rocked the Mini through Warwick High Street, windows down, to the sound of 'Where's Your Head At'... fu*king great!
Back at the hotel, turned on the TV to discover Chelsea were 2 mins away from being declared Champions... snapped me out of a little fatigue. So I got Cava to accompany the superb curry at the 'local Balti' that evening, Harry took a cool group photo and we all stuffed ourselves. Back to P&L's place to chill with a coupla beers, then a cool evening walk back to the hotel. Breakfasted big (well, it was free...) and smoked outa the window while we packed back in the room. We left Warwick about 1.30, but a series of delays meant we wouldn't make Dennis' place until almost 7pm. We skirted Coventry without problems, Style Council on the stereo.
Leicester proved a little trickier, tempted as we were by some massive out-of-town mall complex, initially under the aupsices of buying a new kettle! Dixons, and then Gap, M&S, Costa Coffee and a JB Sports store later, we escaped this materialist dream-dungeon, but almost immediately took the wrong ring-road exit and ended up taking one of my special country detours... 30 miles east on the A43 (?) until the rolling low hills and dips levelled out into sweeping fields of rape and arable land of Rutland and Northamptonshire.
Somewhere near the Norfolk border stopped at a roadside MacDonalds, and sat in their family picnic area with a bunch of (literally and figuratively) obese locals, couples on dates and foursomes hanging out, if you'll excuse the pun. Compared to these guys we were on a mission, moving from a distinct A to B, in linear fashion, so the stop was primarily one driven by convenience. But these dudes, this was more of an afternoon out, and this drive-in recreational area was an integral element of their cultural itinerary.
We moved on to Wisbech but found only more evidence, of social and spiritual despair... It was quite evident that the place had once, and comparatively briefly, enjoyed considerable significance and prosperity. But that boom era ended over a century ago, and only the very heart of the old town, and some of the riverside buildings, held any clue to the status the good people of Wisbech had enjoyed. And yet that spirit still resonated brightly in certain places. Like the old coach house on the road north of the old bridge, the black beams in the subsiding entrance, sagging under the weight of the buildings social history.
The Church of St Peter and St Paul, and the grounds sitting adjacent to it, then the old commercial centre, now a heritage site. Next a grand villa, the site dating back to a noble Norman settlement, with a large garden, all blooming and verdant. Helen and I walked around the crescent street there, and the intensity and vaiety of the birdsong blew us away. Bristling with the Rites of Spring the little buggers were, a vivid cocophany of startled joy. Back nearer the river young lasses headed for a pub, dressed for their 'extra' night out. The sun was low by the time we hit the road, zipping across dykes and ditches. Kings Lynn, and then the sun was at our back. A second improvised detour, and a dash of deja-vu, in search of fuel in Swatham. The wooded country roads were all apple-green and gold light, like a Constable painting, shot through with an electro soundclash of more great music... Good luck, good luck - good luck in your new pad....
A dead grey sky prevailed over this and the next 60 miles, until we were just a few miles short of our M40 turn-off. We listened to Bran Van 3000, Milo and the 'Suite Sixteen' compilation. I remember singing along with In my arms baby yeah at the service area on the M40. I missed the car-park slip road, so we pulled up in the HGV area. I rolled a number and noticed an entire family was standing on the kerb, munching through an al fresco picnic. The bright yellow number-plates on the nearest car suggested they were Dutch... it kinda figured.
Dropped bags at the surprisingly swanky Falstaff Hotel and then to Paula's. Ellie and Harry opened presents while I had a cuppa and then we all sped off to Stratford. After a river walk the girls went shopping while Harry and I sought out a Green Day CD and killed time pretending to sell Big Issues, sat on the pavement in the warm sun. On the drive home we played Basement Jaxx at insane volume, all laughing our pants off. We jack-rocked the Mini through Warwick High Street, windows down, to the sound of 'Where's Your Head At'... fu*king great!
Back at the hotel, turned on the TV to discover Chelsea were 2 mins away from being declared Champions... snapped me out of a little fatigue. So I got Cava to accompany the superb curry at the 'local Balti' that evening, Harry took a cool group photo and we all stuffed ourselves. Back to P&L's place to chill with a coupla beers, then a cool evening walk back to the hotel. Breakfasted big (well, it was free...) and smoked outa the window while we packed back in the room. We left Warwick about 1.30, but a series of delays meant we wouldn't make Dennis' place until almost 7pm. We skirted Coventry without problems, Style Council on the stereo.
Leicester proved a little trickier, tempted as we were by some massive out-of-town mall complex, initially under the aupsices of buying a new kettle! Dixons, and then Gap, M&S, Costa Coffee and a JB Sports store later, we escaped this materialist dream-dungeon, but almost immediately took the wrong ring-road exit and ended up taking one of my special country detours... 30 miles east on the A43 (?) until the rolling low hills and dips levelled out into sweeping fields of rape and arable land of Rutland and Northamptonshire.
Somewhere near the Norfolk border stopped at a roadside MacDonalds, and sat in their family picnic area with a bunch of (literally and figuratively) obese locals, couples on dates and foursomes hanging out, if you'll excuse the pun. Compared to these guys we were on a mission, moving from a distinct A to B, in linear fashion, so the stop was primarily one driven by convenience. But these dudes, this was more of an afternoon out, and this drive-in recreational area was an integral element of their cultural itinerary.
We moved on to Wisbech but found only more evidence, of social and spiritual despair... It was quite evident that the place had once, and comparatively briefly, enjoyed considerable significance and prosperity. But that boom era ended over a century ago, and only the very heart of the old town, and some of the riverside buildings, held any clue to the status the good people of Wisbech had enjoyed. And yet that spirit still resonated brightly in certain places. Like the old coach house on the road north of the old bridge, the black beams in the subsiding entrance, sagging under the weight of the buildings social history.
The Church of St Peter and St Paul, and the grounds sitting adjacent to it, then the old commercial centre, now a heritage site. Next a grand villa, the site dating back to a noble Norman settlement, with a large garden, all blooming and verdant. Helen and I walked around the crescent street there, and the intensity and vaiety of the birdsong blew us away. Bristling with the Rites of Spring the little buggers were, a vivid cocophany of startled joy. Back nearer the river young lasses headed for a pub, dressed for their 'extra' night out. The sun was low by the time we hit the road, zipping across dykes and ditches. Kings Lynn, and then the sun was at our back. A second improvised detour, and a dash of deja-vu, in search of fuel in Swatham. The wooded country roads were all apple-green and gold light, like a Constable painting, shot through with an electro soundclash of more great music... Good luck, good luck - good luck in your new pad....
posted by johnnytoobad at 9:41 pm
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