Planes, Tanks, Ships and Automobiles pt1

As it was Valentine's weekend I thought I would ruin someone else's, so I chose Justin and Lucy*. The lucky pair got me for the weekend as I wanted to go to Bovington Tank museum and their house was kind of on the way, near Brighton. Frida was also selected as an unwilling partner in the task of staring at tanks. She lives in Southampton, on a direct route to the Garden of Eden. I set off clutching my printed copy of Google Maps, it had informed me that the journey to Steyning (Justin and Lucy's town) would take exactly 3 hours and 48 minutes. That was not accounting for the fact that I hit the world's biggest car park, AKA the M25, at Friday night rush hour. It took me two hours to go the fifty miles around London for the M23 from the M1. Oh God, I've turned into one of those blokes that talks about roads and distances. It seems to come with driving. It's the next step from talking about the weather with people you don't know at a party. It's an indication you've reached adulthood when you begin planning routes over a glass of wine during a social event: 'Yes we came down the M21, got off at the B679 at Bermondsly and carried on along the M90865 all the way through Twatshire. It only took 9.67834.82 parsecs. But then there are those road works outside Cunton, which increased the journey by 0.875 Julian Years. But I tell you what, the weather's funny for this time of year, I heard they were having firestorms in Flangeby.'

I digress. Six hours after having set off I finally pulled up outside Jervis Cottages in Steyning. Justin was already half cut and had gnawed his arm off waiting for me to arrive so he could eat. The three of us (Justin, Lucy and I) piled down to the local Indian as quick as our little feet could carry us. Justin and I proceeded to drink our own body weights in BOOZE and we all hit the hay ready for the off the following morning.

Steyning never knew what hit it!

At the crack of sparrows the next morning Lucy stayed behind, the incredibly tempting offer of gawping at armoured killing machines couldn't pull her away from writing a lecture she is giving this week. Her loss. Undeterred and with the siren's call of TANKS in our ears Justin and I drove our hungover selves to Southampton. Having located Frida's digs we drove up and down her incredibly small laned road about eight times before we found a way to access her house. After a well needed cup of tea and a quick catch up the three intrepid Panzerjägers set off further West. We arrived at our Mecca, Bovington Tank Museum. I had been a few years ago, but since then there has been a massive multi million pound overhaul of the place. A lot of the exhibits had been moved into the new place and we spent about two hours walking around the other tanks wondering where the likes of the Panther, Little Willy, the DD Sherman and the FUCKING TIGER were.

WHERE'S THE FUCKING TIGER!!!

After leaning on and denting the Italian tanks, we realised there was a whole new hall to explore, the Story of the Tank. After brainwashing Frida into Tiger worship it was soon time to leave. We'd been dribbling over the Panzers for too long and the place was closing.

'Top five tanks, Frida?'

'Errr, Tiger, Tiger, Tiger, Tiger and erm.. Tiger!'

'Good girl.'

Frida had told us about a Mexican restaurant in Southampton that we were keen to try out. So we set off for the fifteen minute walk (according to Frida) to the place. About half an hour later we arrived only to be told it was a set menu for Valentine's. The vegetarian choice being buried under a mountain of cheese was no good for Justin's vegan ways. The Thai place over the road told us 'Couples only!' so the only choice was to trudge the ten minutes back up the road to another Thai place, again enforcing the couples only rule. Back down the road we walked until we came upon an Indian place that made us wait for half an hour for a table. As it was our only option at this stage we took it. Back in the house, Frida gave Justin and I the front room to sleep in. She said it gets cold, and by Christ, she wasn't wrong. I think Scott and his Antarctic explorers didn't have to put up with such freezing temperatures that Justin and I endured. At one point in the night Justin got up to go to the toilet, I didn't expect him coming back; sacrificing himself as Oates did. I was fully dressed in my sleeping bag but the sub-zero temperatures kept me awake most of the night.

Frida attempts to revive us with tea and toast...

OK, that's it for this part, there's more to come later when we go on a failed hunt for the Mary Rose and HMS Victory!

*I forgot it was Valentine's weekend and when I realised my mistake, I asked Justin a few days before setting off if they had any plans and he said they don't celebrate it. Lucy confirmed this when I arrived, but I bet there was a dozen red roses waiting for her when she got home on Monday night with a note from J saying 'sorry...'