Often, when we rent a car on one of these trips, I put myself as an additional driver even though I know the chances of me actually driving the car are virtually nil. When we rent a car in England, I don’t even make eye contact with the guy behind the rental counter when he asks if we want to put an extra driver on the contract.
Saturday, October 12 (happy 91st birthday, mom). At 9:40 a.m., we bade Hove goodbye in our VW Jetta a car that doesn’t seem that big in the US but somehow manages to expand to enormous proportions when you have to try to keep in the left lane of roadways. By 10 a.m., Michael and I had fingers and knuckles so white that I thought we were both suffering from attacks of Reynaud syndrome. But, as time and the miles rolled on, my digits returned to their normal rosy pink. I can’t speak for Michael’s.
We did make it safely to our destination near Penhallow, Cornwall by 4:20 p.m. with nary a close call to our names but we were exhausted. We scarcely had the strength to lift wine glasses to our mouths to celebrate our safe arrival at Lambriggan Court.