Summary
This summer, I've decided to have a staycation. I love England. I've never understood the late July rush to go elsewhere. Why endure the Pounds 40-aday airport parking, the bus ride to the terminal, the hour it takes to get your ticket out of those stupid new self- service machines, the Pounds 30 charge for excess baggage (when you'll never wear half the clothes), the three-hour flight wedged into a fat man's armpit, another hour on a hot bus at the other end, now minus your lost luggage, all to reach a bed that looks like an upturned orange crate in a room that smells like a smoker's fingers?
Why do all that, when you can just walk a few paces into your garden? I've been all over the world and I can honestly say there's nowhere I'd rather be on a warm summer's day. I'm writing this in my garden now, with a cold beer and the sound of birdsong in my ears. Is that a goldfinch or a garden warbler? I'd have to ask Bill Oddie, but I do know it's a nicer sound than I've ever heard in Torremolinos. Thinking about it, a drive through the countryside with the roof down, a nice pub lunch followed by a snooze on a newly mowed lawn would make a killer package holiday. I wonder if Thomas Cook would be interested?See the full content of this document
Extract
; Live for Motors
And it gets better. When Britain's 30 million combustion engines are one day replaced with smooth, silent electric power, you'll be able to hear the birds sing even if there's an A-road over the hedge.
But that's a long way off. A very long way off, to...See the full content of this document
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