A quick dash to Brighton to swap Christmas presents today, and more importantly, see my lovely girl. Well, the visit went quickly; the drive - six and a half hours of it - maybe not so much.
Not that the outward journey wasn't memorable, and for the right reasons. The snow that had prevented me driving there on Sunday, as originally planned, was still in evidence most of the way from Bristol to the Sussex coast, and where it had melted, there was frost; it just wasn't all over the motorways, which was a beautiful and useful state of affairs.
Not that the outward journey wasn't memorable, and for the right reasons. The snow that had prevented me driving there on Sunday, as originally planned, was still in evidence most of the way from Bristol to the Sussex coast, and where it had melted, there was frost; it just wasn't all over the motorways, which was a beautiful and useful state of affairs.
And I saw ten red kites (as well as a few buzzards) which surprised me given the weather. (I'd imagined them fossicking in the bins behind Waitrose in Berkhamstead, rather than scanning the M4 for deep-frozen road-kill.)
Once arrived, I made for the beach, which was lovely to behold, though rather bracing.
A photo for the Northerner to tell him I'd arrived safely
Then there was time for the gift-swap and a cup of tea before we went for lunch at Brighton Marina.
And then, alack, it was time to leave, with an hour's daylight to spare to get me as far as the M25 before night-fall.
Back home, a photo of my shadow, who follows me everywhere (literally) whenever I get home, to let my girl know I'd arrived back safely.
'I understand you has been to Brighton and back today. You must never do that again.'
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