The Road to Cheltenham

A network of early starters provide R and I with advance traffic warnings as we take the familiar route south to Cheltenham. Combined with radio traffic reports (of varying accuracy), we avoid the worst of the problems and via many a detour make slow but steady progress. Three hours and forty minutes is still one of the worst ever times, but less than some north-west folks five hour epics and generally we avoided being stationery on a baking hot motorway.

As we crawl past incident after incident, a new theory forms: Original Accident.
Maybe once upon a time there was the first ever accident on a motorway. It caused a queue, which another driver ploughed into the back of; causing a further accident and queue, which someone ploughed into the back of and then someone rubbernecking on the opposite side caused an accident and so the ripples reflected back down the network.

All accidents since that time can be traced back to that original smash. All subsequent drivers have since been born into a motorway system in which accidents are inherent.

All in all we’re glad to make it to the Rising Sun in one piece and there gathers the strange yet wonderful collection of people who form the Festival Operations and Programming Groups, who will meet over the weekend to kick the festival into final shape.

Obviously having learnt our lessons in Iona, myself and Evil Twin make no attempts to steal phones, wallets etc.

Sort of.

Still we can only be in awe of the evil genius who pinched Sally’s phone and removed the SIM card before returning it. Far be it from me to suggest where suspicion lies.

Back at Hunters’ Lodge, that bastion of fine service and comfortable living the usual suspects head upstairs for continued socialising. Feeling tired and aware of my propensity for migraines at such weekends (which would be a double whammy as I’m supposed to be chairing the Ops meeting), I consider doing the unthinkable and heading to bed before midnight. A stern look and lecture from Buddy and Migraine Advisor Stuart seals the deal. For once in my life I do the right thing and go to bed.

How dull.