How Was The Drive?

Six am sounds early to start a journey. I expected darkness, quiet, that feeling when you get up for primary school in November and the street lights are on. I forgot, however, that it was May. The sun was up and ready whilst I scrambled around with toast and unwashed hair. The quiet was certainly there, though. The fuel station was empty and the roads clear.

Traffic slowly built along the way. Not traffic in the sense of delays, just more and more cars. Drivers are much calmer in the morning, by the way. It could be to do with the extra space on the road; plenty of room to let the wankers whizz past. I’m allowed to swear, Dad, I’m thirty-three.

I stopped for coffee after two hours, and again another two hours after that. On the radio the presenters chatted about their gardens and why we should all be growing our own grapes. I forgot the news headlines shortly after I heard them. Mum phoned in after they played ACDC’s Highway to Hell to ask if I was still lactose intolerant. The DJ didn’t know.

Those first four hours were uneventful. I drove. I listened to the radio. I thought about the porridge I had for breakfast. I listened to the radio some more. I bought coffee twice, as I said. I bought petrol with the second coffee.

After that it became the most eventful drive home of my life! By the third hour, so many things had happened that I couldn’t even begin to recount them into a story. I’ll give it a go for you Mum. Just give me a minute to remember.

It all began at hour four. I had been driving for five hours straight and was desperate for a wee. I pulled into a service station, relieved myself, then bought a cup of tea. I noticed that I needed fuel, but, knowing that it would be cheaper a few minutes down the road, I didn’t top up. 

I opened Google maps on my phone to look for cheaper fuel. There was an Asda three minutes drive away, so I headed there. Two days later I arrived, and it was Sunday by then, and gone four o’clock, so the fuel pump was closed for two weeks for repairs. I drove back to the motorway station and decided to bite the bullet and fill up there, as I didn’t want to break down just two hours into my journey. I kicked myself for not filling up before I left. 

I told you the first six hours were uneventful. But within thirty minutes of leaving the petrol garage I realised that I was completely starving. I thought about pulling over for food, but I was three days into the drive and really didn’t want to lose any time. For the next hour all I could think about was how hungry I was. Of course, I kept my eyes on the road, so really I should say that all I could think about was driving my car as safely as possible (but also, how thirsty I was). 

Then there were roadworks at Southampton. There are always roadworks at Southampton. Actually, there weren’t any roadworks at Southampton this time Mum, just a large brown bear in a high-vis jacket propping up the traffic lights. What a thankless job. I gave him a wave. Thankfully, I went via Salisbury, so I didn’t get caught in the traffic by Southampton. There’s always traffic at Southampton because of the roadworks.

As I sat in traffic, I remember they started talking about all the green things on the radio. There was a long debate about the colour of cauliflower. Dad called in and said he hated the colour green anyway. Then he gave me some directions, which the traffic and travel presenter kindly incorporated into her hourly bulletin.

I stopped at Starbucks when I got to Poole. Poole is about six hours from Southampton and three hours from home, so I knew I was pretty much on track. I couldn’t believe I had started my journey in the dark and yet now, only two hours in, it was broad daylight. There were a surprising number of cars on the road for two pm. Hey, Mum, is it a bank holiday?

When I got to Poole I stopped at Costa. I was so hungry (because I skipped breakfast) that I almost didn’t notice I was being served by a brown bear in a high vis jacket. The high vis jacket clearly wasn’t doing anything for him. I tipped him twenty percent, as is customary over here in America. Do you remember, before I got here everyone kept warning me about tipping? Tip for everything. I was only twenty years old then. That was a good trip. I was so glad to come home again though.

I got stuck at those never-ending roundabouts by Dorchester again. You know the ones. I forgot which exits I needed, so I ended up doing all of them about three times. I was only an hour into my journey by then, it was very frustrating. I hope the rest of the journey won’t be this difficult.

I made it here in record time, Dad! Despite taking a quick detour for a hitchhiker. He was so sweet, how could I refuse a brown bear in a high vis jacket? Two hours and forty-five isn’t that bad, considering for the first twelve hours I was stuck in roadworks at Southampton. It’s a good job I didn’t go through Southampton.

And I’m home now, so that’s all that matters. No, I really don’t think I’ll make it tonight, Mum. There’s a good hotel here. I’ll stay the night and make the rest of the journey tomorrow. I can’t believe the sat nav doesn’t recognise your road still, Dad. Yes, I’ve updated it. It’s a good job I know where I’m going. Mum? Dad? I’m lost. I’m so lost. There’s a bear...