Armed with my sat-nav and tunes, I took my Polo to Brighton for no real reason other than to drive back home again.
110 miles — the A27 to Worthing, the sea road to Brighton, and up and back via the A27.
Now, I’ve been chauffeured along most of this route in the past so it wasn’t completely alien. I also spent a good portion of last night planning it and setting it up in the sat-nav. I will say, the latter was the most time-consuming.
After a late breakfast, I set off downstairs with a flutter of nerves that dissipated in the car. I got my tunes going. Got the sat-nav working. Got going.
It’s lucky I got Shaun to clear up my windscreen wiper stick confusion yesterday because, at times, it absolutely pissed it down. When once I could get them going but fuck knows what they’re doing, now I can get them going and stop them when I need to. I do need a new rear windscreen wiper. The bit it achieved to clear was better than nothing.
I found, at times, Mr Sat-nav to be quite unhelpful verbally. Telling me, “Enter the roundabout.” And do what exactly? Have a picnic? Fortunately, he writes it down and I can easily glance, notice 3rd exit. I say, “Right lane then. Twat.” I can see us having one of those relationships.
The A24 — is it the A24? No, the A29-something or other — the sea road between Worthing and Brighton is very nice, and you get time to appreciate it because it’s stop-start traffic for most of its length.
Oh, I got beeped in Brighton but I don’t know why — I was in crawling traffic, crawling along with the traffic. I couldn’t do much wrong in my eyes.
To get out of Brighton I ignored Mr Sat-nav and forced a rethink because, no. I refused to go down the roads he was suggesting, or that I programmed in last night, they were stupid.
Up and out of Brighton did offer a surprise. On the B29-something or other, near Brighton Racecourse, you cut over the racecourse. Like actually drive over the racing lane. Very strange. I wasn’t expecting it.
The A27 has a tunnel, transpires. So I’ve popped that cherry.
As time cracked on, Mr Sat-nav started asking me if I wanted to take a little break. I needed the loo so I chose a pub that it suggested. The Woodman Arms. It took a bit of rigmarole to get to it (it was in the backend of nowhere yet just off the eastbound A27 carriageway). I parked up. Walked to the door as this man exited. He locked the door, hung up a ‘closed’ sign, and that was that. I trudged back in the rain to the car.
Because a bladder will scream, I stopped at a nearby Burger King, and then thought I’d get some petrol from the nearby empty petrol station. That went by without a hitch until I was leaving and mistook the accelerator for the break. It was bound to happen. I’m surprised it has taken this long.
Other than being in the wrong lane a few times, good drive. I enjoyed it.
Once back in Portsmouth I went to visit my Aunt and Uncle, who once always complained that I never visited enough. Now they’ll be like, “For fucks sake — you? Again?” Yes 😈
Finally, I headed home via Tesco. It was nice being able to walk around the store with a greater limit on my capacity to purchase. If I struggle to carry it, no matter, got a car. I bought 5 things. Gave up. Went home.
It is official, I’m sleepy-tired.