I TOLD her not to say “it can’t get any worse.” It had been a wonderful visit: my cousin, her hubby, their offspring and significant others had been so fun and so friendly. Final morning came, and I was ready. I had my two-day trip home from England carefully planned out: I knew exactly when to leave, which petrol stations to stop at, how much extra time to leave in order to be able to explore the peedie village I would be staying at on the first night, and I factored in some last-walk-of -the-day time before my dinner reservation.
Hugged everyone good-bye, shoved the dog onto the backseat, loaded up the car, put the car in gear, and felt the bu-bump, bu-bump of a seriously flat tyre. Dammit. Fortunately, even though it was clear that there wasn’t a spare in the boot (I had oh-so-carefully packed the trunk (boot) like some sort of a Tetrus cube but that was all ruined in the blink of an eye), my CIL kept digging anyway, and found the most wonderful invention tucked in a corner: a digital tyre inflator that plugs into your cigarette lighter (do they still call them that?) and hooks up to the tyre nozzle. Moved some of the stuff from front seat back to the boot (trunk), pumped the tyre, drove to the mechanic’s, was taken almost immediately, drove back to get the dog and more good-bye hugs, then back in the car, only 75 minutes later than planned. But that’s okay, I had factored in enough time – if I shortened the two rest-stops, we could still make it to Irthington by 4:00 (in time to beat the sunset and avoid driving in the dark).
Ah, yes. Well, someone who has spent her entire adult life within five minutes of the 401 should know better. Between the traffic, and the rain, and the traffic, it was not a fun drive. The M25 was a parking lot (that sounds just like a line from a British TV show), and the subsequent three motorways were not much better. Poor Scout got 1 (yes, ONE) pee-stop six hours after being loaded in the car in the morning.
We arrived at the hotel just before 8 o’clock, so my great plan to avoid driving in the dark had failed miserably.
But the hotel! Well, that’s for another time.
Oh, and the first thing I buy when I get home is one of those inflator do-hickeys. Genius.