Arriving at the Alamo/Enterprise at Heathrow, a full hour before my booking, I was lucky enough to be looked after by Abdul, who turned out to be a Rainmaker. He found me an SUV right away, which I declined, saying it was too big for me. As I am used to driving on the right, this means that my cognitive map of a car doesn’t extend left, and so the last thing I need is a huge vehicle to manage. So he showed me a nearby sedan. But it had a manual shift. Again, I apologized, saying I really couldn’t handle a manual shift. And so he disappeared, saying he would be back in a couple of minutes.

To my great surprise, Abdul was as good as his word. He did return a  couple of minutes later, with a sedan car, with a huge boot, automatic shifting and a built-in GPS system that was a lot more intuitive than the car I’d rented in Manchester, because it used a touch screen.

He got into the car to show me how to use it, and programmed it to take me to The Mill Inn, Shottermill, Haslemere. I drove off the lot, and (naturally) went the wrong way. Fortunately, I noticed this right away, turned around and, got onto the right road which took me to the M25. Everything was fine until it was time to turn onto the A3. That junction had massive roadworks going on, and it took ages to go through it. But once I was on the A3, once the beauty of a lovely sunny day in the English countryside in spring got to me, I really enjoyed myself. Shortly after going through a tunnel at Hindhead, I got off onto the A333, which took me to Shottermill Road in Haslemere. But where was the pub? Fortunately, I turned around and went back along Shottermill Road. Somehow I went the right way, and saw the pub on my right. I pulled into the parking lot and parked the car.

It was 12 Noon on the dot when I arrived, and no-one else was there. But they were serving lunch. I found a small table and ordered crudites with hummus and fish cakes. The hummus was delicious, but was servied without any bread. However, when I asked for some, she brought me too slices of toast! It was heavenly. Then I had the crab cakes, also marvelously cooked, not too greasy or too rich. After that, I asked for the Alfogato, as I needed my coffee and just wanted a light dessert of vanilla ice cream.

After that, I programmed the car to take me to the Novium Museum in Chichester on Tower Street. Again, the drive there was delightful. I turned left onto Tower Street and followed around, seeing the museum on my right hand side. But there was no-where to park. Shortly afterward, I saw a parking sign and descended down into a basement parking lot, despite the red sign suggesting that I shouldn’t do it. However, there was plenty of space, so I parked the car and then tried to figure out how to pay for it. Fortunately, it took the PayByPhone App. Unfortunately, the App wasn’t coming up because the WiFi wasn’t working so deep underground. So I took a photo of the number I needed to plug in for the parking space, and left. Once I’d come up above ground, I added the rental car, plugged in the number and paid for 2 hours. By now, it was about 2pm, so the parking period would end at 4.

I walked around the corner to the Novium Museum and everyone was very pleasant in there and helpful. I talked about the places I wanted to visit. Weald and Downland was an all-day experience, so was Petworth. Parham house only opened at 2pm, although the cafeteria opened at 12. But it wasn’t open every day, and so I would have to check up on it. Everything seemed to be open on a Wednesday. Then I inquired about guided walks around Chichester, and they also handed me a leaflet about a guided bus tour, which I said would be good in case of rain. 

I was supposed to check in at 3pm at the Charlton B & B, but it was only 2:15, and so I walked along West Street to the Market Cross, up and down North Street, then turning onto East Street. And that is where my memories came alive, for I recognized the end of East Street, just where The Hornet comes in. I programmed 18 Whyke Lane into my iPhone, the address where my father had lived with his second wife, and followed Market Avenue around to Stirling Road, bearing left into Caledonian Road, and right into Whyke Lane. The house on the corner to the right was Number 14, meaning Number 18 was a few doors down. Standing in front of Number 18, it looked completely different from my childhood memories. It had a red door, a Victorian lamp and a new paint job. But I was happy to see that It looked well-cared for. I took a shot of it, and then walked along Whyke Lane in the direction of Lyndhurst Road. At the corner was the DIY store that Daddy loved, still called LindWhyke Store. Then I turned around, crossed the street, and took another shot of 18 Whyke Lane from across the road, before following Whyke Lane all the way back to The Hornet. For most of that distance Whyke Lane is a just a path between two walls. I used to walk that route frequently with my stepmother and sister, fifty years ago, when I was fourteen. It was a great shortcut for getting to East Street.

Reaching East Street, I realized that it was time to go back to the car. I walked back along East Street to the Market Cross, before walking along West Street past the Cathedral. At that point, I dropped a message to the owner of the B & B, saying I would be there in 20 minutes or so. Turning right into Tower Street, I was obliged to walk down the car entrance as there was no other way of getting to the car. Along the way, I noticed a lot of broken glass on the left hand side. I hoped that I had avoided it.

When I found the car, the tires looked just fine, so I got in, and then had the difficult task of turning it around in a tight space with pillars and other cars to avoid. But eventually, I got out and we were on our way. Of course, I made a wrong turn, and had to back track along Wellington Street and College Avenue. But I eventually the Disembodied Voice led me onto the A 285, to Charlton.

I managed to find the B & B without much trouble, and the door was open to Number 5. The host could not have been kinder. A motherly woman, she ensured I had fresh water, and decaf tea bags in my room. She invited me to sit downstairs whenever I wanted. And even told me to visit The Fox Goes Free, the local pub about 0.3 miles away.

I wish I could say that I took her advice, but by the time I’d unpacked, I was too tired to go out, even though it was a beautiful evening. I promised myself to do it later on this week.