Shock of the familiar

Le Shuttle is a bit like air travel, in that you get on the train in Calais, exit in a field near Folkestone, without any real sense of having travelled in between, unlike the ferry, where you can join your fellow passengers on deck to watch the White Cliffs get ever greyer the closer dear old Blighty looms. Exit from the shuttle is sudden and swift, border shenanigans having been completed on French soil, in no time at all you are trundling up the M20 being buzzed by East European pantechnicons stuffed with widgets heading for Birmingham. 

There follows a period of slight annoyance, an essential cultural adjustment to enable you to enjoy  life back home. Slight annoyance is a default setting if you are English, unless it's a run up to a General Election, then resigned outrage takes over. By the way, how unlucky is this, my 60th birthday is on May 7th - Election Day, how bad is that? I think I should get a personal apology from number 10, if the balloon faced moron actually wins.... on my birthday... 

Anyway back to the question of the slight annoyances of homecoming. Having spent three months in countries where I am entirely illiterate, then being able to read the stupid strap lines written on the backs of commercial vehicles counts as a slight annoyance. For god's sake, the first time in 1993 that some idiotic copywriter decided that a word-play on the verb 'deliver' was a pretty neat idea was annoying enough. It's still rampant twenty years on. Lorries no longer deliver crisps, or bathroom fittings or shock absorbers, no, they deliver 'world class quality' or 'unsurpassed customer care' or 'excellence in supply chain solutions'. It's dispiriting. Then there are helpful overhead advice signs - in April we are all cautioned  to 'take extra care while towing' as if in Spring the entire country wakes up to discover they are members of the Caravan Club. Before every service  area we are reminded that 'tiredness can kill.' Not that I am putting forward that being unable to read road signs is in itself a good thing. I will probably come to a premature sticky end somewhere south of Rijeka when my lack of Serbo-Croat leads me to sweep past the 'Beware, cliff edge' sign in blissful ignorance.

Really, we should have eased ourselves back into England, lingering around the blossom covered Kent Sussex border before venturing home. Instead we headed straight towards East London. Our elder daughter lives in Hackney, and after parking up in Lea Valley in no time at all we were catapulted into London Fields twenty-something hipster cafe culture. So far as cultural adjustment goes this was immersion therapy. Forget laid back Southern European  culture, this was high energy supercharged edgy England, not style over substance, but style as substance - suddenly I was feeling six decades too old. I am not saying that London is not a great city, but it prides itself on grime - its dirty old river - as the song goes. Socially it is some kind of human menagerie with a myriad of cultures, classes and cultural tribes all just about getting along. I can sense its energy but don't see its charm. It was great to see Sarah, and like many for young people, particularly in the creative industries, London is where the work is, whatever its challenges.

underneath the arches in the E5 Bakehouse

If you can have boutique hotels, can you have boutique loaves...just asking

So if you can have bright young things..can you be a bright old thing...just asking!

Sarah and prosecco..

Then on to Oxford to visit Matthew. After a trip through Spain and Portugal's famous university cities, Salamanca and Coimbra, it was interesting to visit Oxford. In the 15th Century all three were at the forefront of scholarship. All remain well respected venerable places of learning, but only Oxford remains in the top flight in the world rankings. We should be proud of British universities. Oxford is a beautiful, if somewhat frenetic place. We met Matthew in the centre and went to a great restaurant in Turl Street, which is one of my favourite spots Matthew has decided to take a long weekend and come home with us, which will mean that we won't be rattling around the house on our own.

Spring in Oxford

Near Turl Street, I think

Cod in a fennel with a shellfish broth - very good!

Our youngest, Laura certainly won't be around to greet us, she is in Tokyo to visit her boyfriend. They are off next week towards Mount Fuji and to see the cherry blossom and temples at Kyoto.  The intrepid Turpies strike again

Next stop for us, home. We have a lot to sort out, both in the house and the van. We also have a lot to absorb about our travels since September, and where we might go next year. So far as this trip is concerned, it sounds trite to say it was a dream come true, but since it was something we talked about in the decade before we retired, then we made it happen - how else might you describe it?

Home - and the car started first time after a two month break - brilliant

now the scary bit - opening the mail (ouch!)