Easter basket cases

I've done a lot of driving lately.  I went down to Sussex on Friday to pick up my lovely Mum, who is staying with me over Easter.  We're having a bit of a girlie weekend, which is very pleasant. 

Mr WithaY has made himself scarce, off on some woodsmans training course, where he will be honing his bushcraft and survival skills.  I daresay that even now he is sitting by a campfire, munching on pemmican, trying to dry himself off.  He made a batch of venison jerky last week, ready for the weekend.  Then, struck by inspiration, he finely ground up some of the jerky, added dried cranberries and suet, moulded the whole lot into squash-ball-sized lumps and packed it in his survival kit.  He was very proud of it. 

Pemmican.  Mmm.  Fatty.  And if he doesn't get through it all, I daresay the birds will enjoy it.

Anyway, the driving.  I went down to Sussex, as I said, a journey of just about 100 miles which usually takes me 2 hours, give or take a bit.  The weather was horrific.  Heavy, heavy rain, thick blinding spray on the roads, and of course all the fuckwit holiday drivers who are determined to drag their caravans all the way to the South Coast despite the fact that it is like the end of the world outside.

Gah.

I know I've mentioned this on the blog a few times before, but why oh why oh fucking why do people insist on driving with their lights off in poor visibility?  I almost sideswiped a silver van as he came up fast on the outside, completely masked in the spray and gloom.  Luckily I spotted him before I started to overtake the car in front of me, but even so it was close. 

The trip home was marred by traffic.  Traffic traffic traffic.  We sat on the road into Salisbury for 45 minutes, just waiting to get into the city.  Once in, it was fine.  The roads were relatively clear, but the queue on the way was just appalling.  I only went that way because I had driven past miles of traffic heading west down the A303 on the way out that morning, and thought I'd be wily and avoid it going home.

Schoolboy error.

Here's a picture of similar traffic on the A303 I took a while back.  I daresay some of the same cars were in the queue on Friday. 

I logged the queue on Friday at about 6 miles.  Nice.

It took us 3 hours to get home. THREE.  Once here, however, we have been having a nice time.  Yesterday we went for lunch to the rather funky Indian restaurant on the side of the A36, which used to be a Little Chef.  They kept the elephant slide outside but have decorated it tastefully.  Today we plan a trip to the garden centre, as the sun has made an appearance. 

It's all go here.