The trip in the big red van to Cornwall

I have to paint a picture of the trip to Cornwall. Clare has booked a cottage for the last week in August in a little village near the north coast of Cornwall called St Teath. There are five Watts; Jon, Clare, Tom, Georgie and Harry (another Harry). There are three of us; Leo, Robbie and myself. The van is a big red Volkswagen people-mover. Clare and Jon sit in the parents’ seats at the front. Georgie, Tom and I sit in the big people’s seats in the middle. Noisy younger boys sit in the seats in the back where they can poke each other and be puppies together.

We listen engrossed to the last Harry Potter story on audiotape, wonderfully read by Stephen Fry, which booms through the car loud enough to reach the back seat. Every so often the traffic service that Clare and Jon subscribe to breaks through the story, updating us on where the traffic hotspots and traffic jams are. Whoever is navigating sits with the UK roadmap on their lap actively working out the quickest route given the traffic situation. The traffic is heavy but orderly and courteous. The roads are organised and well-marked in a non-intrusive way, It is green everywhere and the grass and trees come up to the edge of the roads. There is grass on the roundabouts. There are hedgerows and flowers and trees and fields and old buildings and old villages and old towns all along the way.

Every hour or two we stop at a “services”. You leave a slip road from the motorway and suddenly find yourself in a small traveller’s service town surrounded by an enormous carpark crawling with cars. There is petrol, of course. There are huge restrooms with vending machines (painkillers, sanitary stuff, condoms, toothbrushes) inside. There are supermarkets, takeaway outlets, bookstores, money machines, games parlours. Everyone queues. Outside there are picnic tables and garden and grass areas where people sit and have a break from their journey.
It’s OK in the car trip zone.