It seemed oh so simple; did I ant to go to France for the day with my future father-in-law and a couple of his friends? It was to get some booze for the wedding, and i could get some wine at the same time?
What could go wrong?
I mean we live just 5 minutes from the docks in Dover, 55 minutes to Calais, and then seven hours in France before heading back laden with wine, cheese and fresh bread.
No need for the i pod.
or books.
Or camera.
I thought.
We arrived with half an hour to spare only to find our ferry had been cancelled, as had the next one. And now we would not be leaving until lunchtime.
So, we waited for two and a half hours on the dockside. Time began to run slower.
And slower.
And I can't be sure but I thought it did go backwards for a while.
And then there was the choice or music.
There was no choice.
It was Cliff bloody Richard.
And then Boyzone.
Musical hell.
On repeat.
Finally, the ferry arrived and I could escape the blandness of the music, and old family stories and the chain-smoking roll-ups. At least it was a wonderful day, and to be able to stand on the deck outside with the breeze blwing through my hair. Bliss.
Then, getting through the traffic around Calais, so we could blast up the motorway to the Belgian border so they could save 50p per pack on tobacco.
From now on, my thoughts of Boyzone will be coupled with the memory of whizzing through Flander's fields at speeds which Henry Ford did not think a over-laden Galaxy could go.
And then back to Calais to a wine and beer warehouse to futher laden the car and just enough time to call at the supermarket for some unhealthy cheese.
That's when things really went wrong. After being told theat we had 20 minutes before we had to leave, Bert and Dave decide to wander the wine aisles and appeared 45 minutels later. I had enough time to have a Stella in the in-store bar; don't get that with Wal-Mart of Tesco! And then a dash through the housing estates of Calais and to the dock to see our ferry sailing home out of the harbour.
And so we had another two hour wait, watching ferries of other companies arrive, unlaod, relaod and depart. Over and over again. And by this time Cliff had come round on the CD player again.
So, the ferry arrived and we got on; I went to the shop bought a litre of single malt, went to the bar, opened it and took a deep soothing pull.
OK, one more.
That's better.
So, the next day, I have six boxes of red wine of various vintages and countries, a selection of three cheeses that smell worse than my old sneakers, and a half bottle of Glemorangie. All is better, the sun is out, and I'm off to the garden to sleep in the sun.
BTW; France is a great place, people are wonderful, and I feel ashamed for badmothing it for all these years.
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