Friday, 2 June. Heathrow to Weymouth

The flight was less than 7 hours so by the time I had dinner and breakfast there wasn’t  a lot of time for sleeping. I did get a bit of shut-eye. Getting through arrivals at Heathrow was pretty quick and I found the shuttle to Europcar ok. The rental car places seem to be miles away, it is such a huge airport.

I asked if they had a car with GPS as I was feeling less than confident about managing the navigation on my own. The Europcar woman found one which, of course, cost extra but I was happy to pay in order to get to my various destinations without too much hassle. She gave me a sizeable discount too. The “lady” in my phone is often a few critical seconds out but the “lady” in this car was excellent … once I found a bloke to show me how to work it. And that is how I find myself driving a black Mercedes !!! Haven’t found the headlights yet but have pretty much nailed blinkers and window washers.

My pleasant drive south to Weymouth turned out to be decidedly unpleasant. The traffic was horrendous. It seemed that the entire population of the UK had decided to go to the same place as me. We’ve heard stories about traffic jams on the way to the beach and they’re true! There were also miles and miles of roadworks slowing us down to 40mph. Actually there were nearly as many going the other way so that must have been the beach-dwellers getting away from the tourists.The journey was a bit more complicated than expected too. Thank goodness for my GPS lady. I’d have pulled off the road for a nervous breakdown without her. 

Finally made it to the Best Western Hotel Rembrandt and checked in. I have to laugh when I compare it to my last hotel, the Fairmont. No lifts here, I had to lug my case up the stairs but my room is clean, comfortable and all that I need. Had a very nice chicken and mushroom fettuccine for dinner too. 

After dinner I walked a little way up the road to check out the laundrette I so need to visit tomorrow. There were two people there and the young woman I chose to ask questions of looked aghast when I spoke to her but did her best to answer my questions. She told me she was agoraphobic and that it was a big deal for her to come to the laundrette as she rarely steps outside. Poor thing, thinking she could quietly get the washing done and get back home, and then this Aussie comes right up to her and starts asking questions. I hope I haven’t set her back another year in her treatment. Maybe I’ll see her there again in the morning.

I might add the photos I forgot to include last week - the scary loo and the posy photographer.

And then, bed.