The Shrine of St Swithun.

Today I have my monthly quiet day so I decided to make a mini pilgrimage to the Shrine of St Swithun in Winchester.

I last visited the shrine one year ago to offer prayers for my benefice as it was going through rather a difficult time. The effect was almost instant as no sooner had I left the Cathedral that I received a phone call informing me that a difficult situation had been resolved. Then over the course of the weekend several other problems where also resolved, followed by a continual improvement over the rest of the year. Coincidence? Perhaps, but I like to think earnest prayer undertaken as part of a pilgrimage was answered.

Today on a spiritual level was an opportunity to return to the Shrine and give thanks. On a motoring level I hoped it would be an opportunity to get some practice driving the 7 in the rain with the hood on which is something I have only done a couple of times. I am quite sure that on my summer trip I will encounter some rain. However even though I was heading for the Shrine of St Swithun synonyms with rain it has been a dry day, but very very could. It’s said that if it rains on St Swithuns’ day [15th July] it will rain for 40 days and 40 nights as a result of some monks digging up the poor Saints corps so they could build a nice cathedral and shrine, which in those days was very good for business. As a result of this exhumation it rained continually for 40 days. Finally I hoped to test my note book and write a BLOG entry on the road so to speak which is why I am writing this in a Café Nero in Winchester.

Winchester is only 60 miles from Shrivenham and the normal route is to head East along the M4 from Swindon and then down the A34 and onto the M3. But keeping with the principles of avoiding motorways I headed cross country down via Marlborough, Tidworth and, Middle Wallop. The route was great, clear roads with lots of nice bends and hills and the new Sat Nav worked well the journey taking about an hour and a half.

On route I drove past Thruxton Race circuit and as I have never been there before I popped in to see what was going on. Nothing! Race circuits are like ghost towns when there is no event, it was a good 20 minutes before I even saw anyone around so I was greatly temped to just take the 7 on the track but I resisted.

Parking a 7 is always a nightmare even though it’s small. You have to ensure you are not to close to anyone. Other divers often open doors heavily onto the 2 millimetres of aluminium body work sometimes leavening a hole or fail to see the car when reversing crushing the nose cone. Touch wood so far all is well and I found a good covered car park.

Time to start heading back as the staff are starting to think I have overstayed my welcome and at these prices another cappuccino is out.

Agrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr The Waiting!

It’s minus 2 degrees Celsius outside and everywhere is sugared with frost creating a picture perfect winter scene, the freshness and chill of the air almost takes your breath away. As I drive around the Benefice [in the family Peugeot] delivering the Sunday notice sheets I see people enjoying their Saturday pursuits with families, pets or on horse back. It’s idyllic.

However the group that is clearly missing is the petrol heads, which some may well give thanks for. In the Spring, Summer and Autumn this group of eccentrics, of which I am a proud member, can be seen in their brightly polished pride and joys driving around the British Country Side waving or tipping their driving caps to passersby some times on there own or often in lines of automotive history and glory. There is nothing quite like the beauty of bird song been broken by the deep throbbing note of a V8 in the distance or the stilled quite chatter of a village High Street as the purr of a well tune E Type Jag passes through immediately taking people back to an age when motoring symbolised freedom and adventure, not speed cameras and CO2 emissions.

No at this time of year us petrol heads are confined to the garage and workshop, as the nemeses of us all, the grittier truck prowls around the country lanes spuing its cocktail of sand and salt devouring ice but also body work, seems and seals.

We have to be content with pottering around in the garage taking things to bits and hoping we can put them back together again, and on occasion wheeling our cars outside to run the engine for a while. So far I have change the coolant, repaired the brake light switch, checked the cam belt [scary] and polished just about everything waiting for the rain to wash the salt away and the sun to dry the roads.

I was never particularly good at waiting as a child, you know Christmas, Birthdays etc and not much better as an adult particularly when I’m excited about something. This is not helped by the fact that on my study wall is a large road map of France marked with yellow dots and fluorescent orange marker showing my route from Shrivenham heading towards Spain and Santiago.

Planning the route in my spare time has been great; I’m as far as Cahors at the present which is the planned stopping point for Friday 20th June. A 2000 year old town with the river Lot looping it, famous for its truffles, Saturday morning market, dark heady Cahors wine which was produced as far back as Roman times and the Cathedral de St-Etienne (St Stephen). It’s also a traditional stopping point on the Camino de Santiago.

As I bury my head in the many guide books I have acquired I’m whisked off to beautiful villages, sun drenched valleys and glorious winding French country roads lined with poplars. I can almost hear the throb of the engine and exhaust of my 7 as I go up and down the gears and turning through bend after bend. This is more enhanced by the joys of Google Earth which lets you see these places from above also all bathed in sunshine and even follow the roads as if driving them. The illusion does not last for long as I look up and out of my study window to the frost, cold and grey skies and then catch the pile of paper work in my in tray that need attention.

Only 21 weeks, 1 day, 6 hours, 34 minuets and 22 seconds to go.