High Speed
19 August
It's 11:51. I know because the clock says so, in harsh orange letters. Or numbers, I should say. More importantly, we've got a meeting in den Bosch, a 2 hour drive away by all accounts, and we're both pretty stressed. Add to that the fact that it's one of the hottest days of the year, the car's a greenhouse because it's been sat in the sun for the last 3 days, I've got to write a clown on the way down as I'm driving on the way back, and there's a taxi doing 100 km/h in the fast lane, and you've got a situation. Sorry if this comes out illegible. While I've been writing this, Mike's managed to get on to the A4 instead of the A2, and we've hit serious trouble. I do a bit of emergency map reading with the smallest and worst map in the world, and make a split-second decision to double back across two lines of traffic and cut cross-country till we're back on track. I hope... 12:04. The A9's in sight, which is supposedly a good thing. Robbie's popped a pill and fallen asleep, the bastard. We, on the other hand, are stuck behind a SEAT. No contest. 12:06. SEAT didn't last too long. Steve Harley and his cockney rebels are doing their best to calm down & come up and see them; one of the all-time classics, Mike says, and I'm inclined to agree. Looks like we're sitting pretty for a bit. Not Cameron Diaz pretty, but Meg Ryan pretty at least, and that's not a bad thing in my book. Certainly settle for it. So, a little breather for me. Time to appreciate the plus points of our current situation: I'm out of the office, I've got great tunes (courtesy of MC Cargow and Fat Reggie), and apart from the twat in a van who's just pulled out in front of us (probably a Belgian), the road looks pretty clear. Touch pseudo-wood dash. And yes, we've made it back onto the A2 without too much time lost. Cool runnings. 12:23. 371 km to Luxembourg, says the sign. Like we care. As Go West comes on, I'm flooded with memories of holidays and Uni, sunsets and sunrises, thoughts of friends I haven't seen in eight months and others I only saw last weekend. Moments that are important to me, friends that matter. It's funny how memory works sometimes; you can forget the most important things like birthdays, or important things to do at work, and they'll jump out at you at the most inopportune moments, normally when I'm dozing off and my mind decides to do the housekeeping. Then sometimes, a sight, a sensation, a smell takes you right back to a particular place or emotion, and it's almost real. Like the other day at work, when I was playing the NPower cricket game and I could taste the M&S lunch I used to have when I played it in London. Or Mike told me about a time in London, where he had a flashback to his time travelling in India and his emotions then. He came to his senses grinning like an idiot at an alley full of piss by the side of Angel tube. Oh, the pitfalls of synaesthetic memory recall (as I like to call it, and who's to say I'm wrong?). 12:45. Looking like we might make it. Man, it's hot though. I'm not sure Mike appreciates the fact (he's wearing his Oakleys), but I'm squinting into the distance (blinded by the sun, if you will), while the Seahorses are playing on the stereo. I'd ask if he's noticed, but it's enough of a job dodging Dutchies as it is. Don't want to throw a music trivia quiz into the mix at this stage, And anyway, Viva Forever's come on instead, and the moment's passed. Reminds me of when I used to fancy Mel C - what the fuck was going on there? But can't get too involved - we're getting quite close, and it's time for me to switch into navigator mode again. See ya... Hey, Flight of the Navigator. Now that was a fucking film...
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