106. TGA/TGE (3/6)

At the end of the tunnel, as always, there is light and I find the scenery outside the car window less gloomy. Although the rain is thinner it is falling faster and heavier. There is more traffic on this side of the tunnel. Cars whizzing by in the rain - swoosh, sending spray all over - swoosh, making the wipers frantic - swoosh swoosh. The sky is of a deeper grey, the cloud cover is much lower, the luminosity has reached a point where I am wondering if I am suffering from jet-lag (what happened in that tunnel?) as I thought it was late morning but it may be early evening after all. 

Yet I feel good. This is not just the great escape but also the real start to the great adventure. I do not think there has ever been a better time to be planning escapes and adventures than now.

I recline my seat a little more and relax, listening to the sounds surrounding me and letting the greyness wrap around me like a giant down duvet. Meanwhile my husband is more alert, concentrating hard on the heavy traffic and , wait for it - moaning out loud about English drivers and their bad driving habits. 

I mumble agreement (I have to here, don't I?) and carry on thinking about important things. Like breakfast. I am thinking about two rashers of streaky bacon, one egg (but I can't decide yet if I will have it poached or scrambled), one fried tomato, a spoonful of baked beans, Cumberland sausages (got to be Cumberland, I read it on the English Breakfast Society's website), two lightly toasted slices of country bread, Devon butter, ... I am innerly debating whether I should have marmelade or jam when I realise my husband is speaking to me.

' ... please?'

'Yes. Sure. What is it?' 

'Can you mail James and tell him we'll be there before 3?'

I grab the phone, type the mail and send it.

'So we're doing this for real.'

'Of course we are! ... You hungry?' 

Time to seriously look out of the window and the map to find the place where I could place my specific order. 

'Woodstock Garden Centre Coffee Shop, there!'

Excellent find. We stop, get out in the pouring rain and settle to a huge breakfast in a kind of Portacabin shed. Weirdly it feels homey in here, with the customers chatter and the chinking of cutlery.  

My husband is happily munching away on his bacon. No more moaning about English drivers. Then I say:

'That's a good start to our mini-break.' And I can hear my inner voice saying 'See! Told you!'

https://englishbreakfastsociety.com/index.html