Day 18: Homeward bound

The English are always talking about the weather. Or at least that’s what people seem to think. Probably the reason for this is that the weather is a reasonably neutral topic, a topic in which you can disagree without causing a diplomatic incident. “It is commonly observed,” wrote Dr Johnson in 1758, “that when two Englishmen meet, their first talk is of the weather; they are in haste to tell each other, what each must already know, that it is hot or cold, bright or cloudy, windy or calm.”

The thing about the weather in England is that, while it is almost always unutterably awful, every now and then it creeps up behind you and delivers you with an experience that is breathtaking. We awoke this morning to what I could only describe as a perfect English late winter morning. The temperature during the night had clearly dropped some way below freezing and by the time I went outside the sun was up, the sky was blue and the temperature would have been about 4°C. The grass was covered with a silver sheen which positively sparkled in the morning sun. The air was cold in the lungs: this is an English day.

On a day like this you appreciate your surroundings. For all that it is flat as a pancake, the East Anglian countryside has a beauty about it that is undeniable. The trees all stand bare of their leaves but give you an idea of what they would be like at the height of summer. The sound of English birdsong is radically different from Australian birdsong, gentler on the ears.

It was a fine frosty morning. Everything looked wonderful.

It was a day to inspect the Caterham 7 that Peter Scott has been building. Both Peters have long since been into racing and Peter Scott’s son, David, is by all accounts a particularly good driver. The Caterham 7 was complete and roadworthy except for a problem with the indicator unit. Peter Mac, however, was equal to the task I am sure the problem has now been fixed. As comfortable means of getting from A to B the Caterham may well be wanting, but as an exciting and exhilarating means of getting from A to B it may well be without parallel!

Peter’s Caterham 7. A fine machine.

I will not dwell of the parting of the ways. Suffice it to say that none of us knew if we would all be together again. It was a teary departure at least for me. These were men that I grew up with. I shared the follies of my younger years with them. We knew of each other’s loves and disappointments and enthusiasms. We laughed together. But although life took us in different ways with different experiences and helped us succeed or fail in our dreams, getting back together was as if those years hadn’t been. Grey hair, no hair, dick knees … none of that matters a tuppenny damn.

Four old blokes.

We had thought we would go to Cambridge but we thought that might be too difficult so we decided on Saffron Walden instead. And we were glad we did because we found a town that we rather liked. I am certain that I have not been there before but every Englishman has heard of Saffron Walden though I expect none can tell you why. I certainly couldn’t.

Saffron Walden is a medieval town with some lovely streets and buildings, I learn that there has been a market there since 1141. It s first charter was granted in about 1300 when it was called Chepying Walden (meaning Market Walden). In the 16^th and 17^th  centuries the saffron crocus was widely grown, and the industry gave Walden its name.

Saffron Walden, or t least the bits that we wandered around, really do look a bit like this.

We ambled around and made our mark on the local economy through the purchase of a pair of cuff-links and a tie. We lunched at the Cross Keys Hotel. They serve a handsome meal there and it’s the sort of place that we would like to stay were the occasion ever to arise. The G enjoyed a ham sandwich and I had the bubble and squeak. I had not had bubble and squeak for about 100 years and I am sure that when I last had it, it was nothing like this!

The G took a ham sandwich [L], which was garnished with the ubiquitous chip, and I took the bubble and squeak [R] which was served with a pork sausage.

We hit the local church which is apparently the biggest parish church in Essex and also the tallest. It is not, to my mind. Particularly remarkable but it must sport some handsome bells as the walls are adorned with tablets proclaiming the skills of the Saffron Walden campanologists.

A Cambridge Surprise Major with 5,056 changes in just over 3 hours is an Olympian feat. And, oddly enough, when I got home I listed to a BBC podcast in which I heard that campanologist are campaigning for campanology to be recognised as a sport. Well, if synchronised swimming, why not bell ringing? And then whelly whanging … whatever next?

I think we could have sculled around S W for a while longer but we figured we should hit Heathrow in reasonable. The Satnav was set for “scenic” which meant that we took somewhat longer to get to Heathrow than we had anticipated but we were nonetheless in plenty of time for the flight.

We passed through the delightfully named Stansted Mountfitchet. Its name derives from the Norman baron who arrived with the Norman Conquest. The remains of his castle are apparently still visible. The name Stansted means “stony place”. Interestingly, Stansted Mountfitchet is home to the House on the Hill Toy Museum which claims to be the largest toy museum in the world. A trip to its website says that the museum is due to the passion of its owner and curator who, so far as I can make out, was so deprived of toys during his WW2 childhood that he went overboard when could finally get hold of some.

There is a windmill at Stansted Mountfitchet but we did not see it.

Soon after Stansted Mountfitchet we passed into Hertfordshire which its sign proclaimed as “county of opportunity”. It has a handsome website where you can go to see what these opportunities are. The drive into a through London was long and tedious but it did give the chance for The G to see what London living is like. There is a sequence of small aggregations of shops nearly all of which seem to be kebab shops or other fast food eateries. There are lots of people and many red buses. It’s difficult for us to translate the life we have into this; the noise, the people, the traffic, the dust and dirt. I should be able to make the translation for I loved for a while in Stoke Newington and in Dalston, both London suburbs.

We drove through the London Borough of Harrow. If you can tell anything of a locale from its council buildings then you will know what we thought of Harrow as we drove through.

We made the Hertz return at Heathrow and dropped off the Volvo bus. I have dropped so many cars off at the Heathrow Hertz place over the years. I wonder whether this will be the last time. The Hertz man asked me how the car was. This is a difficult question. It was comfortable and it got us from A to B but it had so many features and bells and whistles that sometimes I wondered who was driving, the car or me? I finally cracked the cruise control. It automatically slows down when you come up behind another vehicle. I thought it was dropping out but, no; this is a safety feature. I suppose that vehicle manufacturers are taking us along a gentle path to driverless cars. What a dumbed down world we live in.

I needed to get my VAT back on my various purchases. Last time I had foolishly packed my purchases into my checked baggage and because I could not prove I had purchased them (or at least had not purchased them on someone else’s behalf) I lost out. This time they seem to have changed the process because the whole process took place before check-in.

I will not labour the delights of the flight to Dubai. In fact, at just under 8 hours it wasn’t too bad.