27 May 08
Six am Sunday morning. Sense of humour failure. Three cups of complimentary coffee later and I'm still struggling with rage. While Phil slept soundly, I spent the night sandwiched between two hotel rooms full of ongoing orgies. This is not a wonderful aural experience - at all. The marathon 'sessions' finished at 3am and I had virtually no sleep.
We hit the road and escape the fleshy delights of Warrington, pointing our BMW towards Wales and cutting across to the west so we don't miss out on the Brecon Beacons.
It's when we hit the A40 in Wales my Eureka moment occurs. First off, Welsh rock band Biffy Clyro has never sounded better and secondly, I'm on familiar territory. I drove on the A40 every day as I commute from Archway to West London. This road, however, is very different from the jam-packed route I endure daily. Here it is glorious. The scenery is beautiful and the sun and blue skies have made a re-appearance.
I have lost count of the number of small pubs I would have stopped for lunch. In fact, I tell myself the next pub I see I'll stop. We've been making good time but from that moment on the pubs dry up and we don't see any until Abergavenny.
In Abergavenny we park up at a Wetherspoon pub and arrive just in time to witness a blazing row between an elderly local, a young couple and the duty manager over who can rightfully claim ownership to a seat in a dingy corner of the room.
We keep quiet, order, eat and depart. From then on the miles fly by, apart from those that were lost near Swindon when the Tom Tom we were relying on detoured through very narrow B-roads.
