It’s over, it really is fucking over. It’s been a long emotional month for a hundred squillion reasons, but now we get to go home.
I’m getting a lift back to blighty with Martin Evans, the wonderful comedian and friend who not only gave me a lift up a month (seemed like a decade) a go, but has also been my flatmate for the month of Edinburgh (it is no longer called August).
Also in the car were to be the fellow comedian (and my techie for the last month of Romantic Comedies) Andrew O’ Neill, and the final space being taken up by my London flatmate Dawn.
The plan was simple, we leave early in the morning, head a scenic route out of Scotland, down via Whitby Bay on the coast then have some lunch and shoot off to London and be home for tea.
Martin was stressing, the car was pretty full when the two of us came up to the festival, each with a months worth of stuff (even though I, like Phileas Fogg, and latterly Michael Palin, pack light) Now four of us, and all the food from the flat that Martin was ‘rescuing’ meant for a very very full car. Not to mentioned the still unopened box of flyers I have.
We set off , not at ten as originally intended, but closer to three o clock. But we were still doggedly determined to take the scenic route home.
We left Edinburgh, after about 30 mins of driving we realised we’d gone in the wrong direction. So we turned back. BUT WE’RE STILL GOING FUCKING SCENIC ON YOUR ASS GODDAMN YOU.
Eventually we hit the open motorway and rocketed along to the speed limit.
Within mere several hours we were approaching Newcastle, there was a lot of bad traffic… a lot of it, we were on the motorway, but not really moving much.
We were also listening for some reason to an Audiobook of a Stephen Hawkings tome (no, not read by the author…ho ho ho). It was incomprehensible, if I ever meet him I’ll tell him so, I don’t like feeling stupid, but sit in a car in traffic on a hot day trying to contemplate worm theorems and you’ll soon feel like a gumby.
We were stuck around Newcastle for flipping ages. By the time we got to the other side there seemed little point in heading to Whitby Bay, we were already going to be very very late as it was.
We had to get some food, we stopped at a service station off of the motorway…but they were charging EIGHT POUNDS for a fry up. How is this fucking allowed? So we decided to nip off of the motorway and find some steakhouse somewhere.
We found the ideal country pub style place, pulled up, got out the car, and then noticed the three Michelin stars on the door. We got back in the car before even bothering to check the menu prices.
There was nothing anywhere, I was unaware that the roads south of Newcastle were such a culinary treasure trove, every place we found being ridiculously expensive, all me and Martin wanted was a burger, Dawn being a vegetarian and intolerant to both wheat and dairy, and Andrew being a militant vegan just both wanted to eat something they could.
We thought we’d go to a nearby town, I spotted on the road sign, we were 3 miles from Catterick.
I laughed, giggled and insisted that we go there.
There’s not much in Catterick, notably a pub, an army barracks and a kebab shop.
Any place with both a pub and an army barracks in my experience means that the pub won’t be very pleasant. It wasn’t. We decided to go to the kebab place. ooooh, they sold Pizza. And a lot of them, a whole wall was dedicated to the different types. No fancy names here though, no Hawaiians, just 1. Cheese & Tomato, 2. Cheese, Tomato & Ham, etc. On and on for every possible combination of ingredients
I opted for the last one, 28. The Ariston Special… I wasn’t aware why it was called the Ariston, but my detective skills led me to deduce it was either a) the name of the place, or b) The Pizzas are made in homage to an old TV advert that only I remember that goes “Ariston and on and on and on and on and on….”
The Ariston Special apparently had everything on it. I was hungry, I wanted everything, I paid my five pounds and waited.
Martin chose a slightly more sensible option.
The others, well, Dawn’s wheaty veggie type meant that she was forced to go for just chips.
But Andrew, well, he wanted a Pizza. So he went to the counter and asked for a vegan Pizza, as in a Pizza without meat…or cheese. The puzzled staff looked up at the board, they’d thought they’d covered everything, but this wasn’t numbered.
Oh boy.
The Pizzas arrived, Martin’s looked good. Mine looked silly, it really was piled high with chicken, ham, sweetcorn, mushrooms, olives, onions, peppers…everything, with a thick coating of cheese.
I should have gone for a more sensible option, we retired to the car, mine was nice, but just silly.
Andrew got his, he opened the box. THERE WAS CHEESE ON IT. With the kind of fury that only militant vegans have, he walked straight back into the shop and demanded another, they complied.
Halfway through my pizza and I was struggling, I had quite literally bitten off more than i could chew. Andrew was starving, MArtin had finished his and was anxious to leave, he’d made the drivers error of checking the map and realising quite how little ground we’d covered, and quite how far London was.
Andrew went to fetch his pizza, he opened the box. No cheese. He happily sank his little vegan teeth in, and was impressed.
In his words “Wow, this really is a great pizza.” he was munching away, maybe even a slice had disappeared into his vegan belly when Dawn noticed something “Is that chicken?”
It was
On the pizza was chicken.
Chicken isn’t good for veganism.
Oh dear.
Doubly militant he went back in, demanding a refund, he came back proudly announcing that he’d gotten a refund, and a THIRD pizza was one the way. I posited that quite possibly a third pizza would have the chefs spunk on it, which technically wouldn’t be vegan.
Martin nearly exploded, another pizza wait was another ten minutes or so further from London.
Eventually the pizza came, hopefully the chef didn’t, and Martin didn’t explode.
Now began the long journey, we left Catterick past eight o clock. London was a long way away, Dawn and Andrew slept in the back, but I tried valliantly, as on the journey up, to stay awake for Martin’s sake, and apart from a few minor lapses I managed it.
I also possibly contracted DVT as I had my box of flyers between my legs, making this last part of the journey actually quite painful, my arse hurting, my legs throbbing and my head aching.
By about midnight we were nearing London, home. I’d missed the place, Edinburgh is more beautiful, more friendly and cheaper… but that’s kind of what I like about London, everyone complains that no one talks to each other in London, well, I don’t want to talk to people, in fact when people do talk to me I feel scared. This is my home.
After dropping off Andrew and fighting through into central London, Martin finally dropped me and Dawn off outside our flat in Angel. When I’d left here a month ago I was full of dreams, now I was tired, Edinburgh has been good, but I’d missed my home.
I finally got into my flat, walked into my bedroom and almost cried with happiness.
home.