So, Friday night, the one that runs into Xmas eve this year, work's done and we've all just driven home for Xmas to that infernal song on the radio.... but the call is out to do a bit more driving. Midnight at the BP just up from SIS (Special Intelligence Service) building on London's South Bank? And when the big Xmas fella' (looking remarkably like Cannon Ball Bob) makes that type of suggestion, well, you have to oblige don't you? Anything else would be just seasonally humbugish!
We met Santa as planned, the decorative fairy lights on the roll bars seemed not to attract a reprimand from the 'short straw shift' constabulary tonight.
Sat Nav and Santa led the way, his two helpers as close behind as the black cabs, red buses and dust carts, would allow. I guess they viewed our frivolous convoy as worth pushing about a bit. Santa remained sanguine through all this, his elves less so, we struggled to wish good will to all taxi drivers, big arsed red buses and end-of-week oozing dust carts. Haven't these people seen Santa before? Perhaps not in a green and yellow Seven.
So we drove around a bit. Iconic landmarks and funny cars in a big bright city at Xmas. It wasn't raining. The level of good cheer from the hecklers was as high as the traffic was low.
'Give us a ride mate, we'll pay!' 'When you grow up, will you get the rest of the car?'
Ho ho ho and a Merry ...LOOK OUT!' 'What'll she do mate?' (Eh?) 'Go on, give it some!'
'Nice Morgan!' 'I live in Caterham' etc etc.... ad nauseam
The big wheel thing looked sparkly, but Big Ben had been turned off, didn't know they did that, austere times...but it is Xmas, miserable sods.We whizzed down the embankment, about three times, a forbearance of what was to come. Three Satnavs and a SantaNav do not an easy navigation make.Tower Bridge was probably the last of the planned landmarks before Satan got hold of Satnav and Santa, and the carefully plotted itinerary soon became yesterday's good idea. We were in to the early hours of Xmas Eve now and having marvelled at the three LED screens offering a selection of different, but fruitless solutions to the next 100 yards, we chose the direct route to some warm tea, a bacon sandwich and some sausage rolls from the ration pack. Colour soon returned to Santa's cheeks and the heckles from the roadside regained their received humour. Although the often barked : 'how much for this car??' still leaves me short of a reply that is both harmless and withering at the same time. Maybe: 'About as much as your missus,why?' or 'How much of 'what' for this car?' or perhaps : 'You could have invited me for a drink first mate?'...dun'no.
We ended up at Billy Bunters on the Mile End road...a beacon of hope , well, a beacon of bacon anyway for the weary festive makers. It has been awarded the much sought after 'APPROVED' Sunrise Sevens sticker, merely for being open at this time. Toilet facilities were lacking/absent though, the post blat urinary moment is a thing of meditation and reverence carried out nearest to the scene of feeding as possible. It's a territory marking thing and is less effective when hurriedly executed in dark corners of alleyways where the prickle of hypodermics and the wink of tin foil only serve to distract.
Approved!
Sustained and drained , we drove home for Xmas. No radio, no song....damn, it seems to still be playing anyway, I think it's just in the air at this time of year. Hope Chris Rea gets paid well for it's annual thrashing.
Home by 3.45, the fairy lights are dark and the Iron sledge is rested in its garage until the next festivity.
Driving in my car,
Driving home for Xmas,
Driving home for Xmas ,
With a thousand memories.
(Gotcha! You're singning it, right?)
Somewhere on the Mile End road at some point in the morning.
Happy Xmas from the Sunrise Sevens!
~777~
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