Reaching Barton Rd.
Sometimes you regret certain decisions. I felt intimidated about pulling out my camera when we made a pit stop on the M5. I did...but the few glimpses don’t faithfully sync up with my memories of the place or its atmosphere. There’s nothing hinting at the cheap fast-food circus, no flashing lights in half-lit corridors or hamburger wrappers on the floor. Such an odd combination of extremes. I had oatmeal, of all things…and not very good.
But I’m in great company and time seems to compress, hours lost in a jumbled blur of conversation and 80s music. The cottage is lovely—at the end of the road.