Posterous theme by Cory Watilo

Sparks began to fly

 
I can’t believe it! I’ve just had my first car insurance renewal and it’s gone up £300 plus! Taking the total of running the damn thing to well over £1,000 a year and that’s not counting the petrol.

Is it worth it I ask myself? Probably not. 

If only I hadn’t given that planter at the garden centre a little nudge and trashed the front wing of the car last winter.

I thought I was so clever finding new driver’s insurance for just £600 last year, and with a year’s no claims bonus it could have been half the price it is now. How annoying!

Along with the increasing cost of petrol, my little car has become more of a luxury than a necessity and I’m wondering whether it’s time to hang up my fluffy dice up and use the bus pass.

I suppose I could rely on my girls to ferry me to the shops and practical journeys, but as for having fun - well there’s nothing like hitting the road and not knowing where you are going to land up for lunch or even a B&B overnight.

We used to do just that every six weeks when my sister came home from her teaching post at a Hampshire boarding school and looked after the family for the first weekend of her holiday.

I can’t count how many different B&B’s we stayed at all over South Wales and Somerset, but it was great fun and we had a good system to find our ideal overnight stop. 

We would pull up at an inviting country pub. I would go off to check out the toilets and the Grump (who wasn’t at all grumpy back then) would get himself a pint of beer.

If the toilets were clean and the beer was good, we would book in for the night.

And our checklist worked well until the time I sent the Grump up with the overnight bag and forgot to check out the room myself before bedtime. 

We had found an old coaching station with a handsome bust of Winston Churchill on the bar propping up a notice promising ‘live music tonight’.

The loos were spotless, the beer was good and we booked in for the night.

We were having a great time drinking wine and dancing in the bar when we noticed Winston looking a bit snooty just like Her Majesty on the bar at the Queen Vic in EastEnders. 

The music struck up and as we passed the bar Winston joined in the conga. It had to be done! 

But the landlord didn‘t see the funny side, chasing the conga line all around the pub and the car park shouting ‘don’t drop him’ all the way back to the bar. 

Eventually we climbed the stairs and found our room.

When we got into bed sparks began to fly and my pillow shot across the room. 

I was terrified, thinking it was paranormal activity and we had disturbed a ghost but it was just a relic from the 70s - scary nylon sheets! 

From then on our routine changed to checking the cleanliness of the toilets, the quality of the beer and checking there were cotton sheets on the bed.

It’s been a long time since we’ve hit the road and landed up who knows where for the night and I feel a mystery weekend coming on.

You don’t get much excitement at our age but I can‘t help wondering if that place has proper sheets these days and whether Winston Churchill still sits on the bar looking snooty.