I endured (in many senses) a mixed five day trip across La Manche. Leaving la bienheureuse in the midst of a stressful 3 days as principal organiser of a conference at work, I arrived at Stansted mid afternoon Wednesday, was picked up by gooner con-frère JW en route to the Mecca in N5, and watched part 1 of a 3 part trilogy in 6 days. Result: another stalemate thanks to a Dutch ref blind to his compatriot's faults and a Dane putting his foot in instead of taking it out.
Up early on Thursday morning for a 4 hour, 3 train cross country journey to Cheshire (1st train on time, 2nd 10 minutes late, 3rd 35 minutes late), to spend 24 hours chez frère numèro 3. Pleasant football-free break, despite les nièces preferring, as teenagers do, to spend time with friends rather than their aged uncle. Les neveux more than made up though, despite GP suffering the after-effects of discovering that head-butting the bunk bed ladder wasn't such a good idea. I should say almost football-free; ended the trip with an enjoyable hour in the park playing football and basketball.
Thence back to Cambridge via a 2-train, 4.5 hour journey (both trains on time, British railway miracles do occur), kindly picked up by J&C at the station in time for an evening of beer and curry.
The three of us then set off on Saturday morning for AFC-LFC part 2. Or so we thought. Three miles past Stansted the M11 ground to a complete halt. Eventually, with sinking hearts, we heard some traffic news on the radio telling us that an accident just short of the M25 at 8.30am had closed the motorway, and that traffic was being diverted off at Stansted. ie the junction we'd just passed.
It was now 1130, the match kicked off at 1245 and it would have normally taken nearly 75 minutes to complete the journey to the stadium. Not looking good in other words. So it proved. Two hours later it was half-time, Les Cannoniers were 1-0 down, and we were still on the motorway. We were however moving, albeit with the novel experience of traveling northbound on the southbound carriageway. Yup, the police were clearing the jam from the rear by turning everybody round.
Being cynical, I suspected that the decision to close the motorway was delayed for 3 hours in order to park all that spare traffic, which would otherwise have clogged all the minor roads in Herts & Essex, causing possible gridlock. Nice, big, convenient car-park, 15 miles of the triple-lane M11. Makes me an even stronger proponent of the French system of tolls on all autoroutes. Not only does it reduce traffic, but it pays for dedicated radio channels which carry accurate traffic info every 15 minutes and traffic condition signing which is also up to date. I know some British motorways have traffic info signs, but the M11 ain't one of them.
Anyway, rant over. We got back to base in time to watch the last 25 frustrating minutes on TV. 1-1 draw number three. Let's hope Tuesday doesn't make it 4...
The day was redeemed, in part at least, by a typically delicious dinner, cooked by le maitre cuisinier, and two bottles of nice wine. A lazy Sunday followed, punctuated by snow showers and a partially cheering viewing of the match from Teeside. To complete a better day I got a lift to airport, and was met this end by la bienheureuse, truly the sainted one. The reunion, alas was brief. She's off to Germany tonight on another 2 day business trip...
