The country only had one major highway, the new M1 which ran north from London. Trunk roads were mainly single lanes, with short dual-carriageway stretches around ancient towns. My brother-in-law now lives in Exmouth, and tells me that travelling between home and Kingston takes him just over four hours. Back in the ’60s we allowed ourselves ten hours, leaving Wimbledon at 5am, hoping to arrive in Paignton about 3pm, and be unpacked and settled in before the hotel served High Tea. That last weekend in July, immediately the schools broke up, was a scorcher, with blue skies and the rising sun to our backs. I can see the route on the map now but my overriding memory of the A30 was a series of short ‘bypasses’, some of them nowadays barely recognisable as such. In the 1960s they were loops around congested town centres avoiding local traffic. These new stretches of tarmac were surrounded by fields, or lined with spacious suburban houses. Now swallowed up by further ribbon and infill. But what was Ann going to say?I thought for a moment of calling to her in the shower, and asking if it would be OK, but I realized that would sound really negative to Sally on the other end of the line.So, trying not to leave an awkward pause, I blurted out, "Sure, we'd love to have you."Sally probably noticed the lack of a dinner invitation, but she just said, "How does eight sound?"That was my cue to ask them for dinner, but I decided not to push it, and responded, "Eight will be great."I tried to be very casual about it when Ann came out of the shower."Oh, by the way, Sally just called and said they wanted to come over Saturday night. I told them that would be fine."She bristled immediately."I told you, I didn't think we should see them any more."I tried to escape by being logical which, by the way, guys, never works on a woman."No, what you said was that we shouldn't go to their house any more. Since the problem isn't them and it isn't us and it isn't how we feel about them, I.
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