It is Friday morning and my time here is short before I begin the short trip home. I have done work since I have been here, which is just as well, as the trip has cost the company some money.
Jools dropped me off on the edge of the white cliffs Wednesday morning on her way to work, I had an hour to kill before the car hire place opened and I could then go and do six or so hours work before heading off to the Channel Tunnel and France.
It was a glorious morning, not a breath of wind and endless sunshine. Ferries shimmered in the distance as they plied their way to and fro, and a large cruise ship made ready to steam to warmer waters, from the dock where I should have been working by now as a baggage handler. But instead I am doing what I do, still not quite sure what it is I do, but I am doing it.
I walked down the steep path into Dover , walking under the main road and into the narrow street that nestles between the A20 and the bottom of the cliffs. And then onto the promenade and wandered slowly along, snapping as I went. The car hire place was open when I got there, and after filling in forms I was allowed the car and then head back home to pick up my bags and on to work.
And work, work, work, and then at half two, time to head down to Folkestone and get on a shuttle for France . It is just half an hours drive, and the system recognised me and I went straight into the terminal after confirming details, with just enough time to grab a coffee before it was time to get on the train and settle down for the journey.
And although travelling the 23 miles between Folkestone and Calais under the seabed is a modern miracle, it is amazingly bland and efficient. You just sit there and the train eases away, accelerates and goes in the tunnel; twenty five minutes of darkness outside, and then in the sunshine of France ; into the station, the doors open and you drive off onto the motorway. Simple. As. That.
I drove up the motorway towards Dunkerque, not in a hurry, just making sure I did not make a mistake. I panicked, thinking I should have taken an earlier exit, but held firm that I head to the centre. I only had a downloaded map to the hotel, and hoped that it would all become clear when I headed into the town.
And, it did. The names of the roads matched the map, we crossed over a river, I turned right, up a wide road, turned left and there was the town square,, and on the other side the hotel. I parked on the street, got my bags and walked in, the reservation was there, I got my key and went upto my room, and arranged to meet my boss for dinner by phone, and that was it. Simples.
We met in the lobby and went into the hotel’s restaurant; it wasn’t bad, just unspectacular, the food choice very limited, and mainly fish based, I had crusty something, which turned out to be cheese on toast, or something like it as a starter, and chicken supreme for main. Inside the restaurant, it was all hushed tones, and all very, well, dull, I guess. I was glad when it ended and I went up to my room.
Thursday was a long day, meetings and talking about procedures, and there is the promise of more today. It’s work, and I am here in France with the chance to go and buy stinky cheese, crusty bread and lovely red wine on the way home, which is always nice.
At lunchtime we went to a large shopping centre to an Italian based chain. It wasn’t bad, I had calzone filled with cheese and veggies. And then back to work and a tour around the site, which is now winding down as we come to the end of the project. The size of these turbines is immense, and at times just shocking, and huge cranes to lift the two tower sections on top of each other, and then they stand nearly 100 metres high, in tow rows. As I type this they are getting ready the 100th and final tower for assembly, a huge achievement, and which has been done efficiently and with the minimum of fuss. Everyone seems so happy and even tempered, although I was assured this was not always the case when they were working at 300mph.
At the end of the day I headed back to the hotel, only to find myself beside the marina and maritime museum. I find a place to park and wander around in the warm sunshine, snapping away and ships and buildings and bridges. There were bars open, but I thought it too early for a beer, and so once I snapped everything, I headed back to the hotel, which I found no problem, and relaxed for a couple of hours. The news washed over me, and when the ‘nice’ news on the One Show began, that was my cue to get out and do something.
I didn’t think I was hungry, but now was, and so I went on a hunt to find a place to eat. I had spied a bar just up the road, on the outside there was a menu promising lots of simple stuff like chicken and steak. I went in and ordered a beer; the owner could speak no English, I could speak little French; he left me to my drinking, which was fine. I had another, and began to feel my head spin. Looking out into the street, I saw a small creparie opposite, and they had a menu outside too. I drank up and walked over, it seemed to be open, but not busy. I went in, and asked in fractured French;
“Open?”
“Yes”
“Eat”
“Yes”
“OK”
“Sit down”
It was decided I should have a small carafe of red wine and pepper steak; the wine came and I sat at the table in the window and watched the world go by and into the bar I just left. Friends met, kissed, ordered drinks and stood out in the evening sunshine smoking and making small talk. The steak came, not before I drank all my wine, so I ordered another as the meal came. It was good, or at least better than I would have had in the hotel, with the thought of facing chicken supreme giving me a shudder.
After coffee, I walk back to the hotel in the gathering gloom of dusk, and back to my room to fall asleep.
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