And so to Monday, and the journey back home. Not quite as traumatic as the journey up to Birmingham, not least because the sun shone most of the time, and the only shower of rain was thankfully light and brief. However the M25 section of the trip was as hair-raising as usual, especially the stretch from M40 to Heathrow Airport and beyond, which is always a complete nightmare.
On the way, I was in charge of maps and directions, second in command to our Sat-Nav, which is often, frankly useless. Known as NavWoman, she has a pronounced lisp. Anyhoo, whenever we take a wrong turn, which is quite often, she intones:
"Perform a U-turn ath thoon ath pothible"
This is only hilarious for the first few times, mildly amusing for the next few times, then downright irritating forever.
But I digress.
I love them.
I think perhaps I should have been a cartographer but I was always rubbish at Geography so that wasn't really an option. Give me a map, (and if it's Ordnance Survey so much the better,) and I am happy for hours.
So I am always first to volunteer for map-reading duties on long journeys. Britain is a haven of odd place names, and one which particularly caught my eye on our way home was the macabrely named Gallowstree Common, which I imagine must be a spookily eerie blasted heath, with a single twisted tree in the centre of a wasteland, populated by big, black crows.
So, while I pored over my maps, the conversation turned to holidays, in particular our summer holiday, which is still unplanned.
Personally I favour a trip to the land of my birth and a tour round the Highlands and Islands. This would have to be in June to avoid the plagues of midges which will turn out to eat me alive, but that aside, there are few places in the UK to rival the west coast of Scotland, with its perfect sunsets, unspoilt beaches and jaw-droppingly stunning scenery.
Perfectionist partner is understandably unenthusiastic about the epic journey required to get from the south coast of England, all the way up to the Scottish west coast. So she suggested the West Country, Dorset or Devon where there are some wonderful campsites with sea views, plus the added attraction of clotted cream teas just in case our cholesterol levels fall dangerously low.
Small dog, who is allowed a vote as we are a democratic household, put forward a strong case for holidaying in Barking, which we suggested is probably less exciting than it might sound. Undaunted she then proposed Dog Village, (Yes it does exist. Look it up on Google Maps) which isn't far from Dartmoor and 'Hound of the Baskerville' country. Sensing that a theme was developing, we duly agreed to note her request. Her final suggestion was the rather disgustingly named Lickey End which sounds less like a holiday destination and more like something which would require an emergency visit to the vet. Nevertheless, small dog is entitled to her opinion so it was carefully minuted.
All suggestions will be thoroughly researched and discussed at the next meeting of the aptly named Holiday Enablement And Destination Action Committee (Heartily Endorsed). Maybe we should think of a snappier title..............