Sorry Chief – I’m Air Frames

That’s a very British Military way of saying – not my party!

And frankly – I love it. Craig, my daughter’s husband’s father – or as my grand-daughter tells me – her daddy’s daddy – is a retired British Officer – and he taught me this one! Thank you Craig

Back to the car – or as Craig would say – Sorry Chief – I’m Air Frames.

The car is still lying dead on it’s back – despite a momentary glimpse at life after death.

We drove back to Sutton Courtney on Saturday, we had to revisit the rental agency to extend the lease since at that point the car was still dead. They had tested everything they could think of – including replacing some electrical something (Hence the Sorry Chief – I’m Air Frames). Didn’t help.

We met up with Craig and Jan and had a delightful adults only lunch at the Barley Mow. This is a gastronomic Pub that is well worth it’s full bookings and occasional – sorry, no room apologies.

The pub is nestled in a village that if you squint your eyes and ignore the recycling bins is straight out of the 1800’s – maybe the 1600’s for all I know. Thatched roofs on all the brick cottages, narrow roadways, it even has a stream that rambles thru so it can be featured on narrow boat trips. It has everything – including the Barley Mow.

We knew we were in the right place this time because the decor was upper cottage. Dark beams across a white washed ceiling, well spaced tables, lots of tiny rooms that linked up in some strange (is there a map) way – and a lovely fireplace in every room.

We were escorted into the very oldest part of the Barley Mow – a low ceilinged room (under 6’ for SURE – and maybe topping out at 5’8” in places) that featured 4 tables and a lovely roaring fire. Cozy, cute, comfortable – and one hoped – food to match.

Like most gastropubs – the menu was filled with pub classics – fish and chips in several varieties, shrimp scampi and the like – plus oddities like French Onion Soup and Beet Salad – kinda 2022 meets 1920.

I loved the presentation of my fish and chips – I ordered the sweet potato fries, and opted for garden peas over mushy peas – so not truly traditional. But yummy. Even the onion soup was yummy although I don’t think the restaurants in France are going to lose any sleep over it.

The true food highlights were the conversation on how to make Tarter Sauce (never eat with foodies if you don’t want to know those details), and the best Bakewell Tart I’ve had since I’ve been coming to London.

I’m sorry Costa – your commercial offering, while yummy, is not up to this offerings scratch.

We had a nice long leisurely lunch – it’s really pleasant when it’s just adults, something you forget quickly when constantly accompanied by a lovely, and well behaved, but still 5 year old.

Then we checked in on the dead bug. Still dead. So we headed back to London. 2.5 hours later, we arrived in London to be told that the garage had called – and the car was fixed!

Miracle of Miracles!

Turns out that there was a blown fuse. His fix of the obvious electrical whatever (I’m Air Frames remember) didn’t appear to work because the fuse was blown. When that was fixed – the car ran!

We decide that another 4 hour plus drive just isn’t going to happen – so the plan is for Adrienne to take me to Heathrow Monday morning early (I’m heading to Utah next), then drive on to pick up the car.

Best laid plans

This morning we are greeted with an oops – not quite.

Craig – completely helpful soul that he is – decided to walk to the repair shop and get the car. In doing so – he discovered that the cure wasn’t permanent. The fuse had blown again. Three fuses later – and the conclusion is that there is something blowing the fuses.

Ya think?

So bug is still dead. I’m still going to Heathrow on Monday – but when the car will be deemed healthy remains a mystery.

Signing off to do VeriFLY – the newest wrinkle in an already painful flying experience… Can they possibly make it worse?

The Soup Lady

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