Little did I know that when I touched down in the UK after a lovely flight, that it would take three times as long to get home as it did to fly in from France.We arrived bang on time, picked up my car and left the airport at 11pm. Half and hour later on the southbound motorway, my car was making strange noises. My friend asked if my tyres were okay, she’s considerably more practical than I am, most people on this planet are. So I had no idea. She said we should probably stop at the next services a few miles ahead. Two minutes later she said we need to stop NOW.
I pulled onto the hard shoulder and we saw that my car had a puncture. So it was cold, drizzling and very dark. Most of the traffic was huge lorries driving at crazy speeds and we were stood in a ditch, behind the barrier with cold, sandaled feet hoping my tiny car didn’t get hit.
It took a while for me to remember who provided my breakdown cover, but luckily there was a good signal and once details were taken a very efficient Green Flag lady said someone would be with us as soon as possible.
Pretty soon I had a text letting me know the name of the technician and the registration number of his vehicle and that he would arrive by 1.44am. That was an hour and 20 minutes to wait!
I didn’t know they’d sent another text saying the technician would be there by 2.15, probably just as well, we were already pretty miserable by then, but singing nonsense songs to cheer ourselves up.
Normally on the motorway, we see police cars buzzing around hooping to catch speeding drivers, and the breakdown company had informed Highway the we were an ‘incident’. It would have been reassuring if one had nearby and stopped to check we were okay. No such luck, I bet there would have been if I was speeding though!
Lewis from Newport arrived just after 2.15. He’d driven around 70 miles and had us back on the road in half an hour, driving home on a compact spare tyre at 50 mph. I crashed into bed at 3.40 am.
Breaking down on a motorway late at night is most women’s worst nightmare isn’t it? But never mind, I’ll focus on the nice parts of the journey home from Marseille.
Happy travels everyone!
Am I the only one that hears a place name like Ouagadougou and wants to go there? The answer is probably yes, unless you say otherwise!
No such luck.
This is the view up river.
And this is down. I can’t make any sense of it, but the work’s been going on for several years already. Retracing my steps I pause to admire what I call the photo posts ( they make a great setting for family photos).
Then it’s back to the path.
Where I find this Hairy Dragonfly lady, quite happy to pose for me.
The flora and fauna get together, and give each other a helping hand.
Now, I hope that someone can tell me what this wildflower is, Jude perhaps? I only saw one.
Flora and George are keen to get going now, it’s such a hot day, they’re tempted by the water.
As it’s shallow they give it a try.
But not for long.
Next we cross the wooden footbridge.
This is the point where the North Brook joins the leat, just before it re-joins the river.
The dogs know there’s rabbits around, but they have no hope of catching them.
The bright green plant intrigued me, it’s further away than it looks, could it be a Gunnera escaped from a garden?
We’re getting close to Mill Road now, the Mill was an overgrown ruin when I was a child. A grade 2 listed building, it belongs to the city council, and quite a lot of restoration has taken place. The first mill was built in 1284 by Countess Isabela. It was powered by the leat and was used to grind corn, but from the 1630’s paper making using rags began. Through the 18th and early 19th century, the quality of paper produced changed to good writing paper, notes for private banks and news print for the Times of India. In 1816 a fire destroyed the old mil and this replacement was built.
At it’s height, 200 people were employed, the Industrial revolution was here and it was one of the first to install machines.
Once rag paper was replaced with wood pulp, the mill went into decline, such a shame. I’ve always been interested in the building, it’s so striking.
Lucid Gypsy 