Unplanned Driving Holiday (Unfinished & Not Yet Corrected)
Driving many many thousands of miles in my 27 year IT sales career, and, since the car crash in 2002, long distance driving has not been a favourite task, so God knows why I decided to take a driving holiday in the UK this year.
The general idea was to head for a specific location and then book hotels en route, wherever it took my fancy. A bit risky in July, the beginning of the holiday period. Plus the endless rain up to then made it doubly risky – and a very short break away. But, yay! It was sunny for the entire five days – sunny enough for bare limbs and no cardi for each entire day. Now that really is something!
Monday 4th July O/N at The George of Stamford – Stamford
The recycling bin would not have lasted another fortnight so the kick-off depended on the bin men emptying it first….12:30 and I was off. Sun up and traffic flow good though it still took me two hours to get to the A1. With a meeting planned near Nottingham, I had booked one hotel nearby for the night of the 5th. With heavy traffic and slow driving, I planned to drive leisurely and find a hotel en route. Except traffic wasn’t heavy and the first hotel that caught my eye was indeed fully booked. That meant heading further North, avoiding Peterborough. (I used to work there in the 90s and current press is less than flattering.)
Still, even driving relatively slowly, I got into Stamford quite early – and was instantly charmed. Even more so that I could park for free on the main road while looking for a hotel. If push came to shove I’d stay in a room over a pub (plenty of those available) but I wanted to treat myself to 4 star plus.
The first place I looked in was too ‘pubby’, so I asked a cheery-cheeked lady outside her shop for recommendations – ‘something clean’. ‘Oh they are all very clean, dear’ she replied. She had such a lovely, open, welcoming face that I decided I would find somewhere here – and I did. The George of Stamford – a coaching inn – and I got upgraded too.
Prior to supper, I had a swift look around – plenty of historic buildings, a much cared-for town, with me racking my brain to see if I remembered anything at all from my history lessons – and bought a cardi and some necessaries from Boots. Bought just in time as shops close at 17:30. Relatively small population, but with a lot of rather resentful Eastern Europeans (both in the restaurant and hanging around the town. Presumably post-Brexit though I have found few to be overly helpful at the best of times. The charming lass who upgraded me was English.
The upgraded room had both a shower and a roll-top bath and good quality toiletries. The room looked out over one of the main road but was surprisingly quiet. Just hot. Very hot. Past 9pm and still sunny and sweaty. Thank God for the Dyson fan. Less pleased with the very faint lights, making reading or writing virtually impossible. Oh and awful mirrors (a theme with all the hotels I stayed at). I must have spent at least half an hour bending and preening to see if I really did look like a fat dwarf and if my inside leg measurement (c 32”) had suddenly shrunk.
Had a bath and changed for supper in The Garden Room (lots of greenery and mirrors). Despite it being almost empty, it was still a challenge getting a drink and my meal. And not just from the Eastern European waitresses. The callow youth tried to be friendly but didn’t really have his head screwed on properly. Eventually got a glass of (expensive) red wine in a huge glass and what appeared to be two sips in it. Still, the place was pretty enough to make up for the slackness of service and I was back in my room at just past 9pm – listening to hard rock on Vintage TV. And hot, despite the Dyson. Was a little too zonked to go exploring so decided on an early start instead.
Tuesday 5th July O/N at Allington Manor – Allington
Had breakfast (at George of Stamford), paid up and went for a wander. Mediaeval buildings on practically every corner, the almost twee River Welland, just the ambience pleased and relaxed really rather than being memorably historic, but all so beautifully cared for. Might suit a couple on a romantic getaway. Or someone who loves drawing buildings. Not me, sadly, even though I had planned to ‘drive and sketch’. In the end, I decided it would be easier to draw from photographs taken instead. Then off I drove – in the direction of Newark.
Did a recce of SAA, spotting a recycling place on the same industrial estate so offloaded a huge piece of cardboard that had been cluttering my car boot for months. You have no idea how thrilled that made me! Heh! It’s the little things!!! Also did Allington recce but couldn’t spot the Manor so headed for Grantham and decided to worry about finding it later.
(Actually, my scribbled notes make it difficult to understand where and when I went to both Grantham and Newark. Am guessing 5th as I was going in another direction thereafter.)
So, Grantham …
Very shabby though people were very friendly. I was en route to somewhere but couldn’t pass up seeing the birthplace of Maggie T. For some reason I thought there was a statue of her and, usually the best place to ask, I popped into a local estate agent. As I said, they were very friendly but, unfortunately, rather clueless. Luckily, I hadn’t walked (meter only had a few minutes on it so it was easier to drive). The statue that I was sent to was of Isaac Newton. Same at the jewellers, she had no idea at all, though I did treat myself to some gold earrings being sold at half price.
I was about to drive out of town and not bother, but decided to ask at one last place – a furniture store. The old-ish female assistant also had absolutely no idea but the young couple she was serving did. There isn’t a statue. Apparently they are still arguing about it.
As I was now parked in the opposite direction to where it was, I did a U-ey and there it was, less than a mile the other end – on the corner – bang opposite a Roman Catholic church to Our Lady. And there is a small plaque on the upper part as the Roberts lived ‘over the shop’. The sun was out, there weren’t any parking restrictions, so I left the car on the kerb and grabbed a couple of photos. .. then took the long way round (by accident) to Newark and the National Civil War Museum.
Newark & National Civil War Museum
Presumably by accident rather than design, all the parts of the East Midlands I visited were exceptionally ‘white’. As there were Chinese and Indian restaurants, I guess there must have been non-whites around. But there certainly were a lot of Eastern Europeans.
Now in Newark but cannot recall where I parked. It wasn’t near the museum, and must have been paid for to give me time to eat and view. Ah yes, I remember: Newark Castle (long stay by the railway of the same name). On the map, there appear to be two Newark Castles within a mile or so of each other. I saw the less imposing ruins. Was supposedly near the Civil War Museum but the museum had moved.
After the shabbiness of Grantham, it was good to be parked and walking through a pleasing part of the town – a historic one at that – with a fine range of eateries and shops though I didn’t actually end up eating there. Did a quick spot of shopping and then headed to the top of the town where it (the museum) was now located. Lunch then ended up being a piece of cake and half a cup of coffee in their café. Poor choice really when there were so many decent places I could have stopped at. I had some vague idea of finding a decent eatery nearer the museum but they were a bit thin on the ground and I couldn’t be pfaffed walking back and forth.
Interest in the English Civil War was not planned and it hadn’t really registered that this was civil war country until I saw a sign for the Civil War Museum during the earlier recce but, at the museum, I bought Patrick Little’s book and planned to up my knowledge. Unfortunately, the timetable of 10 minute films didn’t include the ones I would have preferred seeing but I had the auditorium to myself which is always a plus! Kept thinking of Brexit and the potential for civil war if not for social media and Olympic whining instead. Oh and going on protest marches that achieve absolutely nothing. Still, they are better than actually killing others for thinking differently.
After an hour or so, I headed back to my car, taking a photo of the Castle ruins which I later deleted thinking it was from another excursion! (Note to self: do NOT delete anything! File it/them in extraneous or similar. Typically, it wasn’t even in the recycle bin either.)
Back to Allington
By now, I was a little hot and weary, and it was almost time for the shops to close, so I headed back to Allington, which involved going the wrong way and not being able to find it easily – till I saw it and then wondered how I could have missed it since the village is not exactly large! I did try and ring Leo, but the line was really poor so rather than shout at him down the line, I said I’d see him later.
Allington exudes an other-worldly feel, but not sure how really historical it is. It was very quiet and rural with what looked like just one shop cum post office. Quite a lot of houses though.
There was a old codgers’ tea party when I arrived so there was no room to park my car. I asked a friendly older lady who lived opposite if it would be alright to park on the roadside. You never know whether it is going to bug a nutty local so best to make sure. Thankfully, she was charming and said it was fine, mentioning the tea party, and then she went off with a group of her friends, presumably for a walk.
Very friendly welcome from Leo who took over running the Manor from his father (I think). In through a hefty wooden front door and straight onto a seating area with two fireplaces and lots of very dark wood. Cosy – but probably better in winter. Was taken to my room by a young girl working there – but she forgot to leave the key. A guy with a hat was coming out of room nearby and I was a little concerned about leaving the door unlocked but Allington Manor is more like a olde worlde private house providing board and lodging to regulars (as some were I discovered later) so I went off to get the key as if I was another.
My room is huge with massive windows overlooking a quiet road and a field. It has a rolltop bath with two floorstanding candle holders, as well as a shower unit. The mirror is free-standing – another of those that make you look squat and fat. And no, I am not squat and fat! I normally like to leave curtains open but, despite the quietness of the village (plus the adjacent field), it felt a little exposed, especially with the bath in between two (of three) of the windows. But I left abluting till later and decided I needed a post lunch (that cake and coffee at the Museum) glass of wine.
I had asked Leo for the wine when I picked up the key and it was waiting for me on the very sunny terrace when I came down. Now that is service!
The idea was to have a quick drink and then wander around the village – except I got chatting to the man in the hat. Or rather, for a change, he started the conversation. Stephen. A regular, it seems, recently divorced, and there I found myself wondering if he was some kind of Walter Mitty. Seems he has a big place he is doing up in the Fens – meaning not far. Yet he comes to stay here and often. He definitely sounded lonely but why pick a relatively isolated village? He was a trained barrister and a businessman with a few hundred staff and several PAs and knew everyone or so it seemed. And the ex works for Mumsnet. Still he was friendly and I didn’t have anything planned (apart from wandering through the village) so I chatted with him as well.
He showed polite interest in my art wanting to see examples but we had no luck logging on so chatted some more, he on his second bottle of wine and me still slowly sipping my wine followed by a black coffee.
When I booked the place, it hadn’t registered that the Manor was really an upmarket B&B. so it was fortunate that the local pub had decent food, so I was told. S decided that I would go with him, to meet his friend, who he said worked for PayPal. This friend seemed to have made some impact as he mentioned him a lot. As I was hungry, we wandered over when pubs normally open. Except it wasn’t open. So we had a little stroll around – with me not wearing the right shoes – black wedge sandals. S said he thought I wanted to go for a walk. I replied I did but wearing the right shoes. Still he seemed friendly so I didn’t mind.
We headed back to the pub – The Welby Arms – which, by now, was not only open but had a relatively huge queue of people of various ages all waiting to be served. Unsurprising really given it was the only local eatery.
S said he’d treat me but when I ordered my food he told the barmaid not to include his (to mine) which made it sound like he didn’t want to though what he meant was he didn’t want me to pay for his. It all came out wrongly, but since I didn’t know him and didn’t expect it, I paid for myself and he didn’t argue so maybe he never meant it anyway. Anyway, the food was quite tasty and reasonably-priced and I think I ended up eating it before his arrived. When I had finished we moved back to our original places in the front and his friend arrived.
No, he didn’t work for PayPal. Something else which sounded similar but totally unrelated. A charming Geordie. He and S chatted and then, when S got up to go to the bar, I asked how they knew each other. Staying at the same hotel (B&B). Another of the regulars. I said something about S being unusual and very forthcoming with his life and stuff. Mike (? – didn’t make a note of his name and cannot recall it) said he just let him talk. We must have looked in cahoots or something as S was not best pleased and snarled at me at something I said (which I cannot now recall but I think it was just me teasing him which he took badly). Anyway, rather than spoil the moment with explanations or whathaveyou, I said I’d leave them to chat and went back to the hotel.
Had a long soak in the bath and watched something inconsequential on the box while catching up with reading till I got sleepy.
Allington Manor is clean, comfy, well-serviced but probably best for romantic getaways or for those who like relatively isolated villages with not a lot to do within walking distance. I have to admit I would have preferred to eat there rather than in the pub, but it served my needs well enough for one night. I did ask if I could stay another night but it would have been a different room, so Leo found me a room at The Manners Arms a few miles up the road. S had told me that Belvoir Castle was worth a visit and apparently this was the nearest place to stay.
The plan was to go to SAA then come back and do some more exploring around Knipton.
Wednesday 6th July O/N at The Manners Arms – Knipton
Second night of minimal sleep. Even worse last night as I have been wide awake since just after 3am and am now fed up of hanging around the breakfast room. Only an hour to go. (Referring to night at Allington Manor)
And I can hear someone rattling around so head towards the sounds only to be scared witless by a dog barking. Try a couple more times then decide it’s safer to wait at my table. When Leo comes out, I explain that for some reason I barely slept and was getting fidgetty in the room hence coming downstairs. He brings out coffee and, despite me being a little earlier than their stated breakfast times, makes me two poached eggs. I did ask about S and he too didn’t know whether he was on the level with his stories.
Paid the bill and left shortly afterwards, only seeing another regular (who had been outside on the terrace with us), who looked up Lincoln on his iphone. Yep, was up and off so early, and the ‘course’ wasn’t due to start for hours, so I decided to do a whistle-stop tour to Lincoln Cathedral.
Actually, it was so whistle-stop, I only caught a glimpse of Lincoln Cathedral from the roadside as I was a bit concerned I’d get stuck in traffic and then be late. Except I was still too early, so went off for a coffee served by unsmiling Eastern Europeans on the trading estate. Managed to spill a little on my new T-shirt so had a hurried change in the car. Not a good sign as there is a little OCD in me re clothes.
Regrettably, I was bored rigid at SAA and felt like a youngster amongst the others (despite probably being around the same age or not much younger) – coach trip art groups – and stayed for about an hour or so after spending less than planned on art materials. Headed back to find The Manners Arms – which Leo had kindly reserved for me for Wednesday night – and got lost round various back roads. Still, I had plenty of time and it was gloriously sunny. A very nice lady directed me to what I thought was Belvoir Castle. S said it was small ( it isn’t) but this was so small, it was smaller than bijou!
St James Church not Belvoir
As it was locked up and I had parked on a hill in a minute street, I hurriedly took a couple of photos, which now seem to have disappeared along with the ones of Newark Castle, and so I cannot be absolutely sure but think it was St James Church, Woolsthorpe by Belvoir. A Victorian church. Very pretty but clearly not Belvoir Castle.
Hungry and hot, I headed for The Manners Arms to another very friendly greeting and just in time for a late but extremely delicious lunch. Planned to have a snooze but instead thought I’d walk to Belvoir Castle – the real thing. About two miles, so easy-peasy for me.
What I hadn’t taken into consideration was it was (a) uphill all the way and (b) I hadn’t checked the opening hours and (c) I was desperate for a pee about 15 minutes into my walk. And it was closed when I finally got there.
I arrived at a large but empty car park which was the first sign it was closed but still went up to check opening times. Couldn’t see anything. And there were trees everywhere so I saw absolutely nothing of the castle – just a wonderful panorama opposite it. Still needing a pee and feeling disappointed that I couldn’t even take a photo of the invisible castle, I headed back to The Manners Arms, looking for a bit of greenery en route where I could relieve myself without being spotted by passing traffic. I think I managed it without trespassing or being discovered. Just.
But boy was I shattered. On top of that, my BMs (No, I also have no idea what this is short for. Bloating? Blood Pressure? Histamine levels? ) had gone to pot and I thought it best to eat figs and pumpkin seeds instead of another meal. Didn’t even have a glass of wine either, sticking to hot drinks to up my ‘healthy’ fluid intake.
This was another bedroom with big windows – overlooking the gardens and car park – meaning for modesty those curtains too had to be closed. I wonder if that’s why I had trouble sleeping everywhere? Not the nicest of rooms with an odd lot of furniture (the cupboard had a shelf in the middle so only a midget could hang his or her clothes in it) but the shower worked and it seemed clean. Yet another of those horrid freestanding mirrors that fattified me. But I did sleep heavily for the hours I did manage. Surprising really, given it was a popular pub/restaurant.
Had to order breakfast the night before (I was given a form to fill in when I checked in) and went for eggs benedict.
Thursday 7th July O/N at Arundel House Hotel – Cambridge
I was first down for breakfast but soon joined by two other overnight guests. They seemed to know each other, presumably from being in the bar together the evening before. Was a little relieved I had stayed in my room as neither appealed as companions. The eggs benedict arrived promptly but I was raring to go and do more exploring. Thankfully, the figs did the trick (and have guessed what BMs meant now!!!) and I was off. Meaning I was off in the car *afterwards*!
Slight humorous aside: when I went to check out, the woman (who served me breakfast) was on the ‘phone – so I made a gesture that I was taking the case to the car. She was off the phone and carrying my bag before I could blink – although it was genuinely not my intention to get her attention. As it happens, they were wonderfully friendly and welcoming and I was just trying to maximise my time. She looked like she thought I was going to make off without paying. Except I had given my credit card details the night before. Ah well.
Not being in the mood to head home, I took a different route out of Knipton (to the one I had taken), almost retracing my steps from the previous evening’s walk, and there it was – Belvoir Castle – in all its uninvisible splendour. Not hidden by trees at all. And not bijou either. Got out to take a couple of photos as reference for drawing later then headed towards Cambridge. Or not yet.
Having now got into an ‘away’ mentality, I didn’t want to go home and even felt like a gypsy taking to the road and pitching up wherever I fancied, as night fell. Or in my case, wherever I found a decent hotel.
As I had decided to skim the east coast, I headed in that direction, and then decided to spend the night in King’s Lynn. The sun was out, the sky was blue and the outer road into King’s Lynn was attractive enough for me to think it was a good choice. I could almost see the sun shimmering on the sea and had some crazy idea it would be all olde worlde and good for chilling out in – till I drove through the town. Not sure why, but I couldn’t get out fast enough. Yet it was not too shabby and had enough history to appeal. Odd, really. I’d been so psyched up to stay overnight there too.
Getting out though seemed also less straight-forward to driving in and the sights comprised small industrial estates and some pleasant houses. Not sure what happened to the seafront as I headed in its signposted direction but spotted nothing. Can still recall either a slight panic or sense of urgency trying to find the exit. Yep, all very odd. Perhaps it was the groups of not particularly attractive people hanging around the roads as I drove in?
Not entirely sure now why I stopped at an Asda on my way out. Loo break? Drink break? Ah yes, it was to buy a pair of black peddle pushers as my dress was a little too short and it’s not always good to get male attention. They might think mutton. Actually, the looks I got were flattering but best not to push my luck.
Finally out of King’s Lynn I decided to take the scenic route to Cambridge. The distances weren’t that great but I wasn’t quite sure when or where I’d suddenly get the urge to detour or have a meal. Like Sandringham – which hadn’t figured in my inner map at all.
Unfortunately, when I looked at the map later, I could have fitted in Walsingham, which I would like to have re-visited. I hadn’t realised it was off the Cromer road – which was actually the original intention ie skimming the coast. In fact, I didn’t see the sea at all except briefly on the way into King’s Lynn. Or Walsingham. Next time. The traffic had started to build up and most of the road was single carriageway or looked like it was so I made a split second decision to head towards Ely en route for Cambridge.
Meanwhile, Sandringham. All neatly mowed edges, everything clean and CBeebies’ green and blue and pristine. Aside: has Her Majesty ever seen any rough parts of Britain, I wonder?
I had every intention of stopping for a coffee if not lunch but the coach parties put me off. Plus I still hadn’t hauled on the peddle pushers. Those I ended up pulling on outside Her Majesty’s front gates! Not, I hasten to add, as a gesture of disrespect, but it was the first place I could pull up to take a photo and it was cool under the trees. That said, my rear end may well be logged on a security camera somewhere as I finished pulling them up outside the car.
For some reason, working at BCSL popped into my head. Vague recall of doing some training for them here and around King’s Lynn. Perhaps those travelling exhibitions they attended?
One thing jumped out while up here – lack of housebuilding. Unlike here in West Sussex where houses appear to be covering every bit of green field, and spaces either side of main roads also indicated housebuilding, up here there was almost none that was visible and I certainly did look. Someone mentioned that it was true, because there was little money in it for the developers. Poor Southerners! Hefty house prices and scant space!
The signs for Downham Market sounded attractive so I thought I’d grab some lunch there. I parked and walked up into the town, only to find it had a rather depressed vibe. No nice eateries or shops, and various people around and about exuding misery, so I bought a Ribena in a café and headed back to my car and the exit. Perhaps Ely for a pitstop?
Actually, Ely Cathedral was more spotted fleetingly from the road than venturing into the centre. Not sure why I didn’t stop and at least grab a coffee but my driving feet preferred a sunny meander in the car – perhaps with the promise of more exploring once I got into Cambridge. Perhaps it was also because the road into Cambridge, despite being an A road was more like a B road, with no overtaking and being stuck behind Katie’s Thai food van for miles and miles – and it was going considerably slower than me. Tension. First signs in four days.
But I did slow down to mentally store an image of the Cathedral.
Arrived in an overcast Cambridge utterly clueless where to nest for the night, hotels in quiet villages or towns nearby clearly not practical as I wanted to walk from the hotel into the city centre – and I wanted free parking. Then, in less than a minute of having that thought, I spotted the Arundel House Hotel overlooking the River Cam. It looked a little like a town house but I thought I’d check anyway.
Parked the car beside the river and was just about to go in and ask if they had a room when brain re-engaged and I realised I had parked illegally. Eeek. Moved the car into their car park and headed for reception. Yay – a single room was available – and the hotel was much larger than it looked from the main road and had a mass of different foreign visitors, like a mini Babel. It also had a restaurant within and bar – good to know if I couldn’t face going out again. Also a lot of friendly business men attending a conference. Clearly a very popular venue – or at least it was this day.
The room was clean but minute and it was on the the fire escape ‘path’ which I found rather disconcerting. It meant another night with the curtains partially closed to stop anyone potentially peeking in. It was also boiling hot but I did not want to open the window – yep, because of the fire escape.
Had a freshen up and then headed out, in a now very hot and sunny day, to the city centre (after being wrongly directed first). Boots and M&S – the latter a less than enjoyable experience. What is it with too many Eastern Europeans treating dark-skinned people like rubbish? Asked her to please pay attention while serving me and not start and continue a conversation with another woman as if I did not exist. But it left a bad taste.
Once out, I had this overwhelming urge for rice – and since my last meal had been two poached eggs at 8am – anything would do. And it was anything. Meaning a bit grim. £5 for something supposedly Chinese but cooked and served by Eastern Europeans. (Yes, they even run a Chinese eatery in Cambridge!) Reminded me of having a Chinese meal in Krakow. Quite disgusting. Ditto this. Left most of it. Worth a fiver to put me off rice for another few months, I thought. On the plus side, they were not rude.
Cambridge was (is?) chocabloc with young people, students, foreign in the main. Many seemed monied. A happy holiday vibe. It helped that it was still incredibly sunny and people were seated outside eating and drinking, and there was a busy market in the square almost opposite the university, adding to the general air of being ‘abroad’. After wandering round the square and some side roads rather too many times, I then chose to have a very expensive glass of red wine at Cambridge Wine Merchants instead. Felt utterly flaked out.
Either due to sitting down properly or the glass of wine, I started to get second wind so decided to freshen up back at the hotel and then come back out for supper at Thanh Binh – a Vietnamese restaurant on Magdalene Street. Clearly I still had a need for rice! That said, I probably pushed my luck taking chances on some food, as got bad rash on neck.
Walking back afterwards, I kept thinking it would have been better here as a couple. There is something rather romantic about Cambridge. Perhaps it was the energy of promise from all those students, or just the River Cam on a hot summer’s evening?
Friday 8th July Restless And Ready For Home
An overcast departure from Cambridge at around 08:30. Yes, early! Sleeping in a single bed, in a small, hot room was not conducive to a good night’s rest, plus the room was on the fire escape path so I felt uncomfortable leaving the curtains open let alone the window. However, within minutes of heading south, the weather perked up again.
The general plan was to take B roads as far as possible, or non-busy A roads, rather than ending up on the M25 with its stop-start traffic – and I did manage it for a short while, round Royston, through Letchworth (attractive), Hitchin (not attractive), until I found myself about to drive in a circle when I got to Potters Bar. I had rather hoped to drive through Borehamwood – and see how much it had changed – but the signs petered out and, by now, feeling intensely sleepy, I gave up and got on the M25.
And yes, it was horribly stop-start – and, as well as feeling sleepy, I was hungry and needed the loo. The first exit and I’m off, I told myself. It wouldn’t be too far so the mounting traffic would be less of a problem
And the first exit was Egham. I pulled up at the M&S garage and bought a lot of food to eat both for ‘lunch’ and to load the fridge. I was totally focused on trying to load it all neatly into the car, so never noticed that – presumably my rear end – had got the attention of an incredibly attractive and sexy man. As I moved away from the passenger seat (having loaded the car), I looked up and he walked past, head turned to me, almost wistfully, eyebrow raised, a smile. It could have meant anything but was definitely a Good Feeling. He held my gaze long enough to feel that the view from the front hadn’t put him off. That said, even if it was my style to pick up unknown men, which it isn’t, I felt a little concerned that I might be too old for him (had sunglasses on), so drove off.
Aside, men do find white capri pants attractive. Perhaps it’s that summer holiday vibe they give off?
Had brief pitstop to eat something in a park just outside Sunningdale, then continued home.
Somewhere on the road to Potters Bar, not sure where exactly, but the car seemed to veer a bit. At the time, I put it down to being so tired. Meant to check the tyres once I got home but, by the time I had uploaded the car, I just slumped in the bath and forgot. Mel, a neighbour, emailed the next day to tell me I had a flat tyre.