George's World Tour South of Stoke - Day 4
I need to get something off my chest (excuse the pun) before I start writing about today. The Bearded Tits mentioned in the previous two days blogs were misidentified and were actually Reed Buntings. This is what happens when you get over excited about what the guide book says you will see - as soon as you see a bird with a bit of a beard pattern on it's plumage you start jumping to conclusions and making dodgy identifications.
We woke this morning to the sound of rain beating down on George's roof, so didn't bother getting out of bed until after 9am. The weather hadn't improved by then but we thought we should get up just in case it did. We both had another splendid shower, breakfast, and 2 cups of tea, by which time the torrential rain had eased off to a slight drizzle, so we packed everything up and went on our way.
We decided to start our journey down to the South coast, which turned out to be much further than I'd expected. Probably because I hadn't really bothered to look at the map beforehand, just assuming that all parts of the country south of home are much closer together than Scotland is, which is our preferred campervan destination. By not looking at the map, I'd also been in blissful oblivion to the M25 forming a pretty much unavoidable part of our route.
The first couple of hours were fine, apart from wishing we'd only had the one cup of tea, and the Tom Tom behaving very strangely and intermittently choosing a new route for us thereby adding an hour onto our journey every now and then. But maybe it knew what it was doing and was desperately trying to avoid the M25...
It was after lunch when the problems started. We really should have travelled earlier, or later, or any time that wasn't between the afternoon school run and rush hour. Or just gone to Scotland. But we didn't, so we had to endure miles of tailbacks and the crazy near-to-London Southern maniac drivers.
Honestly, it was a hundred times worse than picking up a brand new hire car in the middle of San Francisco which had funny controls and a bonnet I couldn't see over, and then be expected to drive it out of the city on the wrong side of the road surrounded by crazy American motorists in Jeeps possibly with guns. And yes, I am speaking from only very slightly exaggerated experience.
I think it was probably made worse by the fact that we'd just spent 2 days in the peace and tranquility of a canoe on near deserted waterways, only to spend several hours travelling at about the same speed on a road where we should have been doing at least 60mph. At least we had George's Spotify road trip playlist to keep us sane which includes the delights of Dolly Parton, John Denver, The Eagles, Abba and The BeeGees to mention but a few.
Anyway, we eventually arrived in the New Forest at about 6pm. We found a little Budgens shop and stocked up on those essentials I mentioned yesterday, which by now had been increased to include much more alcohol to help us get over the journey. It was only when I was unpacking it later in George that I discovered that we'd gone and bought 2.8% lager again. Doh.
Wild camping (i.e. spending the night in George in a random car park or layby rather than a dedicated campsite) is banned in the New Forest, and there were some official looking signs reminding us at every possible sleepover spot, so we've ended up stopping for the night on a little road next to the estuary near Downton. It's raining again, but the forecast says tomorrow and Friday will be OK, maybe even sunny.
The New Forest isn't really canoeing country, so we'll be doing some walking and braving the wild horses that roam the forest in packs. At least we have Belgian Buns to help get me through what could be a day of horse filled terror.
Posted with Blogsy
No comments:
Post a Comment