The transition from Tobago holiday mode to normal life in Lyon was achieved via a three day stopover in dear old Blighty. Rain greeted us at Gatwick, accompanied us on the drive to Bexleyheath via Bromley and continued the rest of the day. Not much change there. After being welcomed by the good Doctors C, we gave them the news. Delight & surprise all round but a special mention for the Lovely L for being the first to complement la bienheureuse's usual leaky eyes. We took a two hour siesta after lunch to recover and gird ourselves for the return from school of the mini-JeZoids. They duly burst into the bedroom and inflicted an awakening that was rude in more ways than one. Bless 'em.
A pleasant afternoon and evening followed. With the Z-fils-cadet beavering for a couple of hours, his older brother was markedly calmer. We watched the rain fall, the squirrels bury nuts in the lawn, the fox climb over the garden shed, and the parakeets flock in the trees. Tired and jet-lagged we may have been, but we really weren't dreaming we were still in the tropics. Eventually we found our way to bed and real dreams, this time slightly less rudely interrupted by the Doctors' sons before they were dragged off to school the next morning.
Goodbyes said, after lunch we made our way to Cambridge via a somewhat unsuccessful specialist clothes shopping sortie to Bluewater. The relevant fashion sections seem rather small given that about 10% of the target clientele is concerned at any one time. We soon gave up and headed into the Friday afternoon traffic on the M25. Three hours later, we made it to Cambridge. Queue for the Dartford crossing - not too much worse than expected; traffic jam further round the M25 due to road work - not unexpected and a mere 20 minute delay or so; queue coming off onto the M11 lasting all the way (5 miles) to Harlow turn off - entirely vexing and unexpected, due to accident just off the motorway. Teach us for travelling on UK motorways late on Friday afternoon. Ritual gripe: in France they have a radio station dedicated to autoroute traffic, which keep motorists bang up to date with traffic conditions. In the UK we have to rely on patchy, out of date bulletins that may or may not be intermittently issued by random radio stations
The rest of the evening made up for the motorway hassle. A highly convivial evening, first chez J&C with a bottle of celebratory fizz cracked open and a belated birthday present, then a lovely Thai meal at the Lemongrass, with additional guests, Professor Margarita and the two Js. Ms Beaucoup made a game of leaking the news, which completely foxed the others, with the exception of the experienced Crystal Tipps, until some heavy hints were added. Reactions over the weekend ranged from Soggy stunned disbelief all the way through to shrieking delight. No less than expected.
The merrymaking continued back at Cherry Hinton with more fizz, brandy and beer finding its way down my throat while la bienheureuse looked on enviously (of the bubbly stuff, anyway). In the morning I thus felt a little the worse for wear, but a couple of pills and a huge and hearty brunch soon cleared that up. Shortly after noon I was being chauffeured to towards Mecca by the girls while le grand gooner generously forewent his seat and stayed behind to suffer the radio commentary. Suffer being the operative word for the abject defeat against the Lancashire Latics, who for a change won by playing football. Afterwards we put the finishing touches to my fiftieth gooner gift and sloped off home. Fortunately le grand chef had done his usual thing and cooked a delicious, consoling meal. A few glasses of wine did the rest.
A noon flight meant we were up early on Sunday morning. We bade our hosts goodbye, suffered the Easyjet Stansted check-in shambles, but were nonetheless back home in Lyon by mid afternoon. It was raining.
