When day trips to Brighton turn bad, and why - if you get there - you shouldn't drink sea water

Seven hours it took us to drive 169 miles from Bristol to Saltdean, the hold-up on the M25 - caused by an accident near Cobham, which happened just before we got there and apparently left two men with serious injuries - being the sort where you turn off your engine (multiple times) and everyone gets out and wanders about on the carriageway because they can, except we couldn't because we had Cwtch with us on her first major car trip, which turned out to be more than twice as long as expected, and we didn't want to risk her being spooked by anything.

Although this wasn't the longest traffic jam I've ever been in: that formed a large part of the 13 hours it took me to drive from Leeds to Bristol back in December 2017, after a man killed his ex-partner and jumped off a motorway bridge over the M1. And I feel I should give an honourable mention to the six hours it once took Son the Elder and me to drive a mere 34 miles from Gloucester. 

On the plus side, we spotted the legendary Stuart 'Psycho' Pearce at Pease Pottage Services 

And so our day's itinerary was necessarily truncated. Instead of a visit to Clayton to see the windmills, we diverted to the Plough in Rottingdean for an extremely late lunch.

Living in Bristol, which doesn't have the most obsequious of citizens, it was a bit of a shock to see all the Union Jack-ery for the coronation in a few days' time. I'm so glad not to be confronted with this sort of thing on a daily basis. It would make me feel quite bilious.

Apart from a bit of community ribboning outside, the Plough was blessedly free of such nonsense. 

Look at me in the pub with all my people!

Then we had a quick trip to the beach at Saltdean, so that Cwtch could stretch her legs. (We went on the part that's dog-friendly all year round.) 

sea anemones

Unfortunately, just like our old collie,Ted, at Traeth Yr Afon, Cwtch decided to try drinking sea water, and as a result - just like Ted - had an attack of the squits. Even more unfortunately, this happened in my daughter's boyfriend's kitchen, while we were singing Happy Birthday to Son the Elder.  

There's nothing like an emergency kitchen floor clean to finish off a simultaneously excellent and very trying day.

Back home - finally - a gloat over hagstones, three of them with the smaller pebble that bored the hole still lodged in place.