The difficulties of motoring in a drought

The drought in the UK is getting even worse as today’s picture shows. One even has to park ones car near water to keep ones tyres from overheating in temperatures hovering in the high single figures celsius. I am so glad we are returning to the steamy wetlands of Provence today.

Yesterday, we had just enjoyed a nice lunch at the Old Mill at Elstead, deep in the parched Surrey countryside which was clearly screaming out for some moisture as my picture today captures. It seems that it is so hot and dry in England that people are removing their socks and shoes and walking about the place as if they were in the south of France in summer. Shoes seemingly not required as my picture today of a diner trying to get back to their car illustrates.

A quick paddle after lunch

The rain has been relentless and the drought continues. It seems that there must be 6 months of continuous rain in England before the leaky reservoirs are once again replenished and the gardeners can stop worrying about how to feed their plants. In the meantime rivers break their banks, millions of acres of farmland are flooded, roads are closed and plants are dying from lack of moisture. What a curious place England will be in which to live again.

Guildford is the victim of a devilish one way system but eventually after an hour or so driving around and only one pub stop for sustenance we booked in at the Angel Posting House into a lovely room once again dogged by the loudest central heating boiler in the northern hemisphere. That nice lady decorator was not happy and at the time of writing this early evening on Sunday, I would not rule out the spilling of blood, mine probably because obviously the booking of this particular room is my fault, despite the fact that the booking of the specific room was undertaken under her careful guidance from the decorator in chief.

However, once the shower setting stubbornly would not move from “dangerously scorching” I knew it was simply a matter of time before the spilling of blood was a racing certainty and that she would attempt to have us moved to another room. It was fortunate for the management that the receptionist was a young good-looking foreign chap, perhaps French, who could not have been more helpful. It helped to calm that nice lady serial complainer and take the sting from her venom.

To get away from the noise we ventured into the town in search of somewhere cheap to eat somewhere to entertain sprog 2 who earlier in the afternoon had refused point blank to allow us into his student hovel. A quick shufty through the window however revealed the true horror. And we wondered why he has been ill with food poisoning? The flat mates in the BBC’s “The Young Ones” were anally obsessed by cleanliness and order in comparison.

Dinner then was taken at Coal in Guildford Town Centre, the sort of venue that I would have loved had I been aged 19, but given that I am a little older, did not enjoy as much as sprog 2 clearly did. Jalapeno peppers in a burger? Insanity. They did however serve a fairy decent Rioja so partial solace was at hand.

As it is now Monday, I can safely mention that I shall one again tomorrow begin scouring the Valbonne area seeking any poor unfortunate enough still to be using their banks when shifting money from one currency to another. Currencies Direct is the answer.

Chris France