Yesterday, I drove to Plymouth to see my friend perform in a play. This was possibly a foolish idea given that I am recording a new radio show on Tuesday which is currently mainly not written. Even more foolishly one of the friends I was taking with me insisted we wouldn't have to leave before 3pm, even though the show started at 7.45 and was some 240 miles from my house. Even more foolishly the other friend I was taking had got stuck on the tube so we didn't actually leave until 3.40. I had four hours to travel 240 miles (and bear in mind that it was likely to take me at least 20 minutes to get out of London and that I would need to stop for petrol and possibly to go to the toilet or have a rest)and that would only leave 5 minutes to park the car and find the theatre. We prayed that there would be no roadworks or accidents (likely to involve us at the speed I was going to be forced to travel). Through some skilful manoevuring and a possible disregard for the laws of the road (and only one brief toilet stop) I had managed to park the car in the carpark next to the theatre at a rather impressive 7.15pm. I hope the cataloguing of this journey will not be used against me in some future court case.
But it had been a tiring and somewhat gruelling drive and I'd only eaten a bar of chocolate and some salami (which not surprisingly I promptly threw up on arrival at the theatre). After watching the play which was entertaining and disturbing and upsetting in equal measure ("The Wonderful World of Dissocia" - hopefully may be on again at some point and it's another theatre recommend from me) we went out for some drinks, and apparently the only food place that was open in Plymouth was a fried chicken shop (possibly called "The New Yorker") which served the most disgusting chicken and chips I have ever eaten (and I've eaten plenty of disgusting chicken and chips). After "Supersize Me" I had vowed not to eat this junk any more, but there was literally no option.
I managed to get to bed by 2.30am, but woke up early and tired and feeling unwell with a hopefully slightly less frantic car journey in front of me, so I could get home and try and write some historical sketches. I hadn't really thought the logistics of the journey through when I had agreed to do the driving! It wasn't until I'd had a sandwich and some coffee at about 50 miles in that I actually felt that I was awake. Thankfully somehow I had driven efficiently enough in my sleep.
Yesterday when we had passed signs for the Plymouth distict of Mutley, we (like a million people before us) had all laughed like the demonic dog from "Whacky Races". Today we were too tired to even do that. And there were still 238 miles to go at this point. It wasn't looking good.
We got back at about 3pm. I'd driven close to 500 miles within 24 hours.
When I pulled the key out of the ignition the CD player carried on playing. This shouldn't happen and never has before. The CD player only works when the key is in.
The ghosts are still haunting me through the medium of electricity.
