Yesterday, in the blazing sun, I drove down to Basingstoke for the wedding reception for Nick, my team leader.
Given the weather, I decided to go the pretty way down -- the normal cross-country to Aylesbury, then A-roads as suggested by the AA route map, which I reckoned would take about 3 hours, and did (plus time spent filling up before really setting out). It was also hot enough that after I filled up, I took my shirt off before it got sweat soaked and drove the bulk of the way bare chested.
The heart of England in late spring sunshine always looks gorgeous, though I was surprised that reception for digital radio was lousy on the stretch between Prince's Risborough and Reading.
After the usual bit of snatching glances at the route instructions and the "which right turn is it" terminal guidance, I got there at a decorous time, in an interval in the Morris dancing.
Though it was a case of only knowing the people there from work, there was a vicarious sort of feeling of it being like being at a little brother's wedding do.
The cake was a 3-tier sponge, covered with rice-paper flowers (that made it look barnacle encrusted to prosaic-minded me), that wobbled perilously when being transported. Inside the decoration it was very sticky icing, and tiers of lemon layered with thick lemon cream, and chocolate.
Being there solo, and needing to get back to be care nurse for the morning, I made my excuses when the food was over and it was starting to get to the loud music and drink stage, coming up to 10pm. The home run I did the M3-M25-A1 way, not much shorter than the pretty way, but even cruising at a fuel efficient ~60mph most of the way, the traffic was light enough let me keep an average of almost 50mph. And fuel efficient it was -- the first pip of 5 on the fuel gauge emptied 160 miles after filling up (and I usually reckon about 90 in my usual commuting pattern).
And now he's off for a fortnight in Italy, I have to go back to work tomorrow.