Its about the journey

Yesterday we drove to Mottisfont Abbey trying to avoid the traffic jams along the coast road on a bank holiday, we drove up to the M25 and down the M3. We passed the time on the M25 making stories about lives of other people in cars who passed us by many times in the different lanes. And at one point we noticed two car loads of people having a conversation besides their cars in the middle lane – it was that slow. We were mesmerised by a Banana ripening and delivery truck that kept going past us.

And the service station were like swarming ant heaps of families escaping their hot cramped cars.

The funny thing about this part of the world whenever we go thru, always get lost around Ringwood – its like a black hole to me – get sucked in when ever i drive thru. You need to leave the M3 at Romsey, another old Hampshire town where the Earl Montbatten estate is. Around Southampton is my dad’s old stamping ground and its interesting to pass thru towns and villages he’s often mentioned.

Way back my dad’s ancestors were smugglers, but a lot of Sussex and Hampshire families were, often led by the vicars – a lot of the smuggling tunnels lead to the churches.

Hours after we left home, we arrived at Mottisfont – a beautiful place, a medieval priory with rolling lawns, streams and ancient trees and upstairs in the mellow old house, an exhibition of pen and ink sketches of Winnie the Pooh. In the grounds were many colourful batik flags – fluttering like prayer flags on top of a Tibetan  mountain made by old and young people together with pictures about how their lives are now and how they were.

In the fields, an art exhibition – a circle of trees with their trunks painted with gold leaf symbols.

And the journey home – always quicker, like journeys home always are

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