Well, That Was A Slow Cricket Week

And I wasn’t even in the country

Last weekend I was on holiday so was not going to be playing cricket. Usually this would not hold me back from doing a blog write up, as I have only a very passing interest in accurately recording what happened, so I was going to look at the result of the game and then make up a load of cobblers. This is what I usually do so no worries there. However, it was a very wet weekend so there was no cricket on offer at all. So, instead, you will get the story of my return from holiday.

We finished our holiday in Amsterdam, staying in a hotel on a lake just outside the city. By bike, you can get from this rural setting, with cows, people riding horses and ducks quacking to the centre of Amsterdam, with all the canals, narrow but surprisingly tall buildings and soft drugs you could wish for, in just half an hour. As a proper grown up person and bona fide ‘Dad’ I am no longer interested in such things when I go to Amsterdam of course. My interest in manmade water ways and architecture long being left behind due to my grown up responsibilities. However, all holidays must end and thoughts turn homeward bound.

13 Hours on the road. Amsterdam to Bournemouth in one day.

This does sound like a long time on the road but was surprisingly easy. First up, you have to miss rush hour times around cities, so we had good traffic for most of the journey in Europe; the Rotterdam ring road was a bit of a bugger but other than that fairly smooth. Going past Rotterdam also reminded me of one of the poetic roads in the world – the A13, from Rotterdam to The Hague.

‘If you ever have go to Den Haag, take the A road, the okay road that’s the best, go motorin’ on the A13’

For fans of Billy Bragg, or Essex, or songs about roads……

We did break our journey for a couple of hours in Gent, which allowed us to stretch our legs, have a spot of lunch and marvel at the medieval architecture (ok I know that looking at architecture is a filthy habit that I said I had given up when becoming a parent, but Gent is mainlining pure impressive buildings). It even has my favourite ever post office…….

OK, its not a post office anymore but the fact it once was cheers me up for some ineffable reason 

We also had a look around a church, as they tend to be peaceful and relaxing, with catholic churches also tending to be stuffed full of impressive art. This church managed to really impress though. Because as well as the above it also had a car in it.

And on Palm Sunday, Jesus entered Jerusalem driving a Mk3 Ford Cortina 

 Why? No idea, probably a relic from the time of Christ brought back to Flanders during the crusades, or something. But it’s fairly bonkers, even for Catholics.  

Then, after worshipping at the shrine of the holy hotrod, back on the road to the short trip to Calais. This holiday was the first time in years that I have done serious driving in Europe and I’ve got to say a SatNav makes it so much easier. Not for general route planning but for dealing with motorway junctions that I always found difficult negotiating in the past. Modern technology is sometimes very useful.

Then another rest of an hour or two on the ferry, calm seas and a sunset of numinous beauty.

The sun setting in the channel

Although, I must say the ferry from Cherbourg to Poole is my preferred route from France to England. As, even though it takes longer, I get to sit in the café on the boat and listen to northerners swap stories about how long it will take them to drive home after getting off the ferry. ‘It will take me 9 hours to drive to Manchester’. ‘That’s nothing wor lad, it will take me 13 hours to drive to Newcassle…..’ All the while smuggling thinking ‘I will be in my kitchen drinking tea within half an hour of driving off the ferry’. What edifying soul raising beauty could compete with such glorious schadenfreude?

Then onto the final leg of the journey, driving in England. No Sat Nav needed. A20, M20, M26, M25, M3, M27, A31, A338. The poetry of these letters and numbers sings to the (possibly quite large) part of my soul that is on the spectrum. Although it seems most of the Southern English motorway network seems to be locked down to a 50mph speed limit. I did not let this dampen my mood though, as we were travelling quite late in the evening so there was not too much traffic and we kept rolling along. I also kept myself surprisingly cheerful at the amazing fuel economy that I was getting at driving at 50mph in sixth gear. Ah, Dad times indeed……………

At one point the road network tried to throw me a hairy scrote by closing the junction between the M25 and M3 but a quick bit of finagling the A and B roads to the north and west of Woking saw me back on the M3 in less than 15 minutes – begone mighty demon SatNav, I do not need your guidance here, I can forge my own path for myself and my family.

And so we drove on, being cheered up by the 'Welcome To Bournemouth' sign as we rolled into town. My family and I really like this sign, I think because we used to live in North London. Which meant any journey home involved the North Circular near its end with the inevitable 'Did you witness this murder?, if so please contact the police' sign as we were getting close to home, it just didn't give the same chilled vibes. We pulled up at Chez Worsdale just after midnight, a mere 13 hours after setting out. A couple of days rest is now due before the final game of the season on Saturday, where did the summer go?