Welcome back to the Frog Blog! We are safely reinstalled in Mazeroux after a whirlwind week of activity in Blighty, and as usual, are finding the change of pace somewhat jarring. Good job we have NYE around the corner to occupy us! I’m not sure yet if I will be able to cover the entire week in one entry, so this may or may not become a 2-parter. If so, Matt will conclude the tale.
Our trip began early on Friday 21st. We’d done our best to pack as surreptitiously as we could the day before, but despite our efforts, both pusses knew bad things were afoot. By the time clothes were going into suitcases, the Smoo had reached a fever pitch and was very distraught. Louis just shuts down when he dislikes what’s going on, whereas the Smoo rails against it with gusto. We got up early and managed to hit the road for just after 7. It was cold, rainy and very misty, so far from ideal driving conditions. It continued in this vein for a good chunk of the drive to Calais, but despite this, we made excellent time, sailing by Paris on the ring-road without any issues.
We made such good time in fact, that we were at the terminal at just a little after 3pm. Our train wasn’t due to leave till 6pm, so we were pleased to be offered an earlier train upon checking in, all at no extra charge. It was due to leave at 4.30, so we had a little time to spend soaking up the delights of Calais’ Eurotunnel terminal. Looking around me, I couldnt help recalling what a lot of the press in the UK were saying prior to the opening of the tunnel: that it would be a drip, pumping the UK full of cheap fags, booze, and of course, johnny foreigner. It occurred to me that they’d gotten it half right: the tunnel does act as a drip, funnelling undesirable elements across the Channel. However, they got the details wrong. As far as I can tell, the tunnel mainly serves to pump Calais full of ignorant, chavvy Brits. I am convinced that if blindfolded and dumped there, no-one would be able to say for sure whether they were in Calais or Dover.
Boosted by our earlier train, we were looking forward to hitting our first destination ahead of schedule. This is Steve & Ian’s new home near Tonbridge Wells, Kent. I say new, but really they’ve had it quite some time now, and all the renovation works are finally complete. Steve & Ian, for those who don’t know, owned the palatial home in Dalston that we looked after for our last 5 years in London. Their new home makes the house in London seem pokey and plain in comparison: it is just staggering. An old oast house, it is made up of three large turrets with an interconnecting house section. The boys own 2 of these turrets and a section of the house, with the remainder owned by descendants of the original owners of the oast house. They have done a great job of renovating; a challenging task given that nearly all the rooms are spherical. It is fittingly sumptuous, boasting a fair amount of land too.
After such an easy drive, the last stretch from Folkstone to Tonbridge was a challenge. It was dark, raining, and once off the motorway, the roads soon became very narrow and twisty. They were also extremely flooded: the first visual clue we had as to the extent of the rainfall the UK has endured recently. Our sat nav did well enough getting us close to the house, but for the last section, we were advised to call up as their turning is easy to miss. Sure enough, we did miss it, but realised our mistake straight away and did a U-turn. We kept our eyes peeled for the driveway on our right and retraced our steps. Just then, we were dazzled and baffled by the headlights of an oncoming car, heading straight towards us. It took a split-second to realise that actually, it wasnt some drunken local veering off course: we were on the wrong side of the road. I am pleased to say that disaster was averted and that this was our one and only incident of driving on the wrong side of the road.
Ian was unfortunately not feeling too well: he has a stinking cold and a bit of a fever, so was at a bit of a low ebb. Steve however was on top form and gave us the grand tour. After that, we started on the champagne and wine. For dinner that evening, we went to one of their local pubs and had a decent meal, washed down with yet more wine. Ian wasn’t drinking, so soon left us to it, and not too long after, Matt wisely took himself off to bed too as he was about done for. Steve and I stayed up for a superfluous glass or 2 more, but even we were a-bed by midnight or so.
The boys have both embraced their new lifestyle. If you’d placed a bet with me a few years ago that Ian would one day live in the countryside and tend to his own veggie plot, I would have gone all in – and would have lost too. Steve is also loving rural life. His wardrobe now boasts a collection of tweed jackets and he has a gun cabinet. He also owns what is apparently Kent’s must-have accessory, the Range Rover.
We left the boys’ place at around 10:30 the next morning to press on to London. The rain showed no sign of letting up but in the light of day, the going was somewhat easier. It also showed more evidence of flooding, including a 100m section of country road near theirs that was under about half a foot of water. Thankfully, we didn’t cut out crossing that, but it didn’t do the brakes much good. En route, we went through the town of Yalding and passed no fewer than 8 Range Rovers. Yalding is a great name for a town, but it sounds to me like a verb, not a proper noun. In honour of the locals, I found a suitable use for it: the verb ‘to yald’, which means to drive a large 4×4 vehicle down the middle of a narrow country road.
Despite it only being about 30 miles from Tonbridge to East London, the drive took about an hour and a half due to traffic. It actually wasn’t as bad as feared though, the only real congestion being around the Blackwall Tunnel. We got to Iain’s dumped our stuff and headed out to take care of our shopping needs. This entailed a trip to the City where we had lunch and hoped to tick off a lot of things from our list, only to realise that it was a Saturday so most places were shut. Forced farther afield, we pressed on to the West End, scoring haircuts, some new shoes for me, and a few other bits n bobs too. We got back to Dalston at around 5 for a chill out and had a brief and lovely catch-up with Iain’s former lodger, Ludwig (the man who introduced us to Devon Rex cats).
Saturday night was our big socialising night. We took the tube from Dalston (a first for Matt as the new Overground tube hadn’t opened the last time he was in the UK, some 2 years ago) to Oxford Street. From there, we headed to one of our favourite London restaurants, Shampers. 9 of our nearest and dearest joined us: Matt Jones, David Cox, David White, Kathy & Allen, Davey A and Andrew, Kevin, and Gavin. We had a great meal and then headed on into Soho for a few drinks. Most people left at this point, leaving a hardcore crew of Matt & I, Gavin, and our friend Katherine who joined us after dinner. We lasted till closing time in Rupert Street and then went on to a bar called Man Bar, which stayed open later. Katherine, as always, had her party hat on and so kept us all going at quite a pace. By 1.30, we were ready for bed. We bade Gavin good night and shared a cab back home with Katherine, who is also a Dalstonite. We invited her back for a nightcap, which as expected, turned out to be rather more than just the one. She was in charge of drinks and put together a cocktail heavy on spirits and light on mixers, the ingredients of which I am pleased to say, I do not know. I hereby name it the Dionysis (my pet name for Katherine). We stayed up until the wee small hours but it all overtook us in the end. Katherine cabbed back home and we passed out right after.
The following day started late and very fuzzily. Matt managed to get down to Old Street to replenish our smoking supplies but otherwise, we stayed in all day. Iain made us a lovely lunch which helped us on the road to recovery. Lud had brought us a bottle of champagne the day before, so we decided to wash down our lunch with that. Afterwards, Iain got creative with the cocktails. He started off with a margarita (one of the best we’ve ever had), served with a dash of Chambord. Next was a three-rum and banana liquer concoction that was as delicious as it was feisty. To follow, Iain made his own version of the Espressotini. These too were divine. All this helped clear up our hangovers no end.
That evening, we took the tube back out west, this time to meet Mary-Carol and David for a Chinese. We met up at 7 at the restaurant in China Town and proceeded to have a delicious and copious meal. Chinese food is very rare for us out here, so it was a real treat. My only complaint was that all the fortune cookies contained adverts instead of ‘fortunes’, which struck me as a new low for the advertising industry. After the meal, we settled on a nearby bar for a beer cleanser or two, but the couple had to be back for the kids, and our energy levels were taking a nose-dive, so it was an early night.
Right, that more or less concludes the London segment of our trip and, as suspected, this entry is already quite a tome. Over to Matt for the exciting conclusion!