Driving our home for Christmas.

It’s Ann-Marie’s Birthday, we’re sitting at the front of the ferry and we can’t see out of the window for the spray that’s being thrown all over it.
Ken did us proud and blasted his way up through France, the only hiccup being one of his windscreen wipers getting a case of brewer’s droop on the last leg towards Calais. On the driver’s side. In the rain. In the dark. On a dual carriageway.

We’ve not heard a weather forecast for 3 or 4 days, but we’re quite prepared for it to be horrible. We’re staying at Karen’s near Basingstoke tonight so as long as the southern motorways are clear enough we should be OK.

We’ll put some statistics together when we get a chance. You know, lists of things.

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