driving home for christmas

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Like many of you, I’ll be hitting the road sometime soon for my annual Christmas trip to the fracking north. Laden with the beautiful south’s equivalent of gold, frankincense and myrrh I’ve often felt like the archetypal missionary bringing material civilisation to the loin-clothed locals. But with every passing year the departure time gets earlier and earlier, and the arrival time later.

Thirty years ago, in a 1.1 Ford Escort, the M40 & M6 could be comfortably dispatched in under four hours, including a wee stop at Stafford Services. Pick the wrong start-time now and, with the additional time-saving ribbon of tortuous tarmac that is the M25, it can take me as long to reach the M40, let alone traverse its north-westerly course. Furthermore, were it not for the God-send that the M6 toll-road represents, some years I swear I would’ve only just made Boxing Day’s under-seasoned turkey bubble & squeak.

Gone also are the carefree days of throwing an over-night bag in the boot, pulling on an Xmas jumper and putting the pedal to the metal. Mind, arriving home several days later to find the cat feral and ravenously hungry was always a bit of a guilt trip! Such a journey these days warrants meticulous, detailed planning worthy of the united allied forces approaching D-Day. And this weekend’s inclement weather makes it all the more portentous. Routines may indeed sound the death knell of spontaneity but I’d like to see you bumper-to-bumper just outside J24 without a half-hundred-weight of stale tuna & mayo sandwiches, Thermos of tepid weak tea, an accumulated seven months’ worth of political podcasts you’ve promised to catch-up on, and a snow shovel that’s fallen off the back seat and is now playing havoc with your expensively manipulated L3 & L4 vertebrae. Oh, and an empty bottle to pee into. Especially an empty bottle to pee into.

Routines are the things that keep the universe in check and help our lives retain some structure and semblance of order. Think of them as your own personal Brexit, your way of wrestling back control from forces beyond your comprehension and understanding. And there’s only one thing worse than failing to plan for the journey ahead, that of planning to fail for your subsequent return. So, before you disappear into the distance here are my tips for a harmonious and hassle-free home-coming:

  • Do the dishes. Yes, it’s such a small, inconspicuous thing until you’re faced with a stack dirty pots, pans and plates, with your favourite mug at the bottom.
  • Change your sheets. Having spent the equivalent of a modern-day test match on the road you’ll want a bath and bed. The water will cleanse your body of the disastrous Christmas you’ve just endured and clean, fresh sheets will work wonders for your mind. Whatever you do, and upon pain of death, don’t strip the bed and leave it bare as you’ll be in no state to tackle the Rubik Cube’s fiendish task of attempting to single-handedly get the duvet into the cover. Hell hath no fury like a bed unmade…
  • Bleach the loo. Enter to the scent of pine and feel the bleach burn your eyes. Flush and release your inner domestic goddess.
  • Empty the bin. And the dishwasher. Why wouldn’t you?
  • No, you won’t eat those bananas upon your return. Chuck ‘em. And fruit flies don’t pay the rent.
  • Even though they don’t know it’s Christmas time, water the plants, and ask Alexa to play Band Aid on a continual loop for them. Why should you have all the fun?
  • Yep, cancel the milk but ensure there’s one on your doorstep for your return. There’s nothing like that first cuppa knowing that the journey’s behind you for at least another year.
  • Tell Postie you’re going away and ask him nicely to refrain from depositing the usual industrial quantity of direct mail through your letter box. If you don’t, after four days you may well need the fire brigade to break down the front door to secure entry. I find a substantial tip usually helps.
  • Take down the trimmings before you leave. If you don’t you just know they’ll still be there in August.
  • Oh, and feed the cat.

Merry Christmas and a safe journey.