We woke up once again at dawn on Sunday. Looking outside the soft dawn colours were reflected in the water of the firth. We had a long wait for breakfast, and had toyed with the idea of leaving before then as we had so many miles to do. Maybe we should have done. Breakfast was at nine, and we were the only guests in the hotel. So, once fed up, we packed the car and headed south. We decided to use the A1 to go south, as it had at least some dual carriageway along its length. South of Edinburg, towns became rare, and it became clear that we would not have enough fuel to get us to Berwick. So, why not use the Sat Nav to find a petrol station, right? Well, it seems like a good idea, but all the ones it found were behind us, some further away than the hotel we stayed in. We decided to press on, and in a few miles we passed a small village that had to one station with one pump. The dour guy behind the tills indicated that business was bad with everyone using Tescos and the like. The fact he did not take cards meant that we were checking every nook and cranny in our wallets and various compartments in the car for cash to fill up as much as possible.
We passed one unfortunatly named town on the way down, Shitbottle: yes, Shitbottle. One can only imagine how it came to be called thus. I had to have a double take when I saw it on a road sign.
It was another glorious day, whilst still in Scotland we had great views of the coast and sea, and south of Berwick views accross to Linidfarne and Holy Island; all very wonderul it looked with its Abbey on a headland. Also, at many places castles in various states of deriliction; certainly a beautiful part of the country.
North of Newcastle, the road impoved, and we began to make better time, and the traffic also got heavier. As we went south, we ticked off the landmarks to show our progress south: The River Tweed, The River Tyne, The Angel of the North, and so on. The reality of the night in Scotland struch home as we clocked up the miles.
Once back south of Lincoln, the traffic got heavier and heavier, and had me yearning for the empty roads of the north. Once on the M25, the traffic was of rush hour levels, as it always seems to be, and it is alsways hectic to get accross the Thames at Dartford. Soon enough we were back in Kent, and the empty road meant that we could get some great speeds up, and managed to make Dover in under and hour, which stricktly speaking was not sticking to the speed limit. Passing Leeds Castle we got a great view of the climax of its Firework display; wonderful it was too. It seems that Sunday was the night of choice for bonfire parties, and all around bonfires of various sizes could be seen.
Once back in Dover we called in the cet one of the cats from Jools's father. She had been increasingly happy there rather than the cattery. And it is almost possible to believe she was happy to see us.
Copy & paste to friend: (Click inside box; Ctrl + C to copy; Ctrl + V to paste)
|
|
read more blogs!
|