It’s hard to believe a quarter of this trip has already passed, although that includes a 24 hour flight from Melbourne, a day lost to a visit to the NHS, part of another effectively ruined thanks to torrential rain in London, and a meandering, excruciating, never-ending drive from inner London to Kent — at an average speed of 14 miles per hour. But a couple of early disappointments aside, the real business of this journey begins now.

First things first: after the histrionics associated with getting out of London yesterday (and the worry I would miss out on touring Chartwell — Sir Winston Churchill’s residence in Westerham, Kent), today’s drive was a doddle, and although it took every bit as long to get from Tunbridge Wells to Topsham (near Exeter), it was also a 240 mile drive, not 70.

As it turns out, I not only missed out on Chartwell, but it’s dubious I would have been able to see it anyway: the house doesn’t open until 11am, meaning it’s effectively a half-day enterprise (and adding over an hour of driving today, there and back, assuming I could actually find it); the last entry is at 3.40pm (ruling yesterday out altogether); the price is £20 (in my view a bit steep to see anyone’s house); and the tours are guided and based on a “theme” (so if you go and it’s Clementine Churchill day, for example, you miss what you wanted to see anyway).

I am however going to Blenheim Palace (Churchill’s birthplace) next week, and will pay my respects once again at his grave nearby in Bladon, so there is still a “Churchill dividend” despite yesterday’s disappointment.

But the decision on the part of Etihad Airways to defer my return flight to Melbourne by 24 hours is, increasingly, looking like an unforeseen stroke of luck: I was initially rather shitty when that happened, delivering me back to Melbourne as it will 15 hours before I’m due to recommence work. But a deal with my boss for a little extra time off, and an extra night in London as a result of Etihad’s logistical adjustments, buys me a night to have the dinner at Roast I missed after the NHS episode, and a full day in London to pick up things I want and to do anything I’ve missed. Touché.

And speaking of the NHS and the illness I experienced in London, that’s clearing away nicely now: a few more days on antibiotics and that will be that, one hopes 🙂

Tonight I’m staying a a chic little pub in Topsham with rooms, called The Globe; when I booked it, I was very sceptical (for example, being told the pub doesn’t have any parking “but there is some nearby” hardly inspires a lot of confidence, and its location — near Exeter — was chosen simply to break a long drive to Cornwall into two sedate hops). But readers will have seen the sunset picture I posted if they’ve read this far, and the river and its banks, for walking, proved to be a bonus.

I say to those planning to travel these parts that The Globe should be seriously considered if it fits your plans: it’s a little hard to find once you get off the M5 Motorway, but I’d happily stay there a second time.

And while I’m not going to bore people with a full-blown dinner review as I have a couple of times this week (and will likely do again before my month on British soil concludes), the grand old tradition of the Sunday British roast was the obvious choice to eat.

Have a look at this.

Remembering what I said earlier in the week about portion sizes, I actually had an entree to begin with (sensational salt and pepper calamari, for those interested, with a magnificent chilli and lime mayonnaise, for £8). However, the roast was not a miserly portion judged on any criteria, and even with the appetite I bring to good food, I couldn’t quite finish it. The photograph simply doesn’t do it justice: the thing was huge.

So no “lemon citrus tart” dessert for me. For once!

But those who read my initial post on this online travel diary know that as much as this trip is a sorely needed holiday, there’s also an itinerary of work and things to do as well; tomorrow I’m heading to Tintagel — on the wild, treacherous Cornish coast — equally the source of infamy and lore about smugglers and shipwrecks alike, with the two often intertwined. As I propose to set the third of three novels I’m writing substantially in that area, I need to get to know it intimately so I can write about it authoritatively and credibly, and that means lots of photographs, lots of notes, and a less vapid tourist-y reason for crawling all over it for a couple of days.

The driving from here becomes less onerous, and certainly less so than yesterday; while the distances involved may be far greater from time to time, the routes are very straightforward away from London, and some of the scenery is (to use a stereotype) breathtaking. I was going to say “ravishing,” but it’s not quite the meaning I sought to convey.

I will make the observation, however, that some of the best photography opportunities today occurred driving through terrain in which it was impossible to stop, be that due to a dearth of places to do so safely and/or park or because it’s not a good idea to take photographs while driving at 70 miles per hour on a British motorway! For a moment the thought crossed my mind that it would have been nice to have a travel companion, but that probably sounds selfish if the perceived reason is merely so the pictographic record of the trip was optimised. I’m not that callous. But in any case, this time — largely alone with my thoughts — is proving the tonic I had hoped it would, even amid stories of manic road travel segments and a couple of frustrations along the way.

And I have caught up with some of the people in London I planned to; a couple of the other catch-ups will happen in my “London extra time” after I fly back from Scotland. It’s all good.

As an aside though, a sign in a roadside toilet in Dorset during a break from driving was, I would have thought, a statement of the bleeding obvious: perhaps not. None of these “activities” would appeal to me in such a locale, but I’m sure British police have their reasons. I initially misread the sign, and thought the public authority that issued it was “Public Toilets England” (which shows you shouldn’t believe everything you read, especially without reading glasses).

Seriously though, one week in, and I’m just getting started.

I thank those who have been reading my posts (and note comments are welcome should you wish to leave them), and hope you enjoy following me on the rest of my field trip around the United Kingdom.