M25

I have lived in London for almost four years now. And yesterday was the first time I'd ever driven on the M25.

Jessica decided to take me on a different route back to Bethnal Green. I usually go on the M1 until Junction 2 and work my way through Holloway, Highbury and Islington. But not today. I trusted Jessica.

So, onto the M25 it was. And I got a bit overexcited at spotting South Mimms service station, which was a favourite from French exchange school trips, where I would usually buy the latest Jane Austen paperback and pretend to be intellectually superior to my classmates, whilst actually wishing I'd invested in Judy Blume. To this day, I haven't finished "Sense and Sensibility".

Anyway, partly for old time's sake, and partly because I had a stonking headache and needed to stop anyway, I pulled into South Mimms, expecting the memories and excitement of bygone foreign exchanges to overwhelm me and move me slightly.

But it was just a service station. Memories of dawdling on the grassy banks, teasing the French assistantes and looking forward to a fortnight en France had been replaced by a Burger King, a rip-off coffee shop and some substandard toilets. I bought an overpriced bottle of water, took some ibuprofen and left to the dulcit tones of, "Oi, you shouldn't be in the coach park."

Happy memories.