Thursday.
I woke up after over eight hours of good sleep, and felt better. Outside the sun was already warm and shining in a clear blue sky. I lay in bed, thinking of having a shower, then realising I had forgotten to buy any deodorant. Another fine mess I thought.
I showered and dressed, went for breakfast, and after programming in the directions to the office, set off on the 7 mile drive back into Ijmuiden. Traffic was not so bad, but people seemed to be driving very fast: I stayed in the nearside lane and hoped for the best. THe best being that I arrived at the office, which was shadowed by an even bigger cruise ship, and that in turn was joined by another, The Saga Saphire. I pondered that, and then realised that in 3 months I would be old enough to be able to go on one of their holidays. Bah and humbug I thought. And my inner child blew raspberries.
Work went on in its familiar way, although with each passing day it seems to be better and better for me. We are over halfway through installation, fe snags. So we shall see how it pans out. As a reward, I have been given a new, more expensive and important project. They have faith. Pity the fool!
The day slips through my hand, it is soon five, and time to head back to the hotel. But there is good news, a courier has delivered my case, and in it is a change of clothes and deodorant. I cannot wait for a shower and a change of clothes.
The repeat drive to the hotel, my case is there. I take it and my stinking body to my room and have a good 15 minute shower. It is glorious. I then douse myself in vapour for the can, and smell, well, not human, like a bowl of flowers, but I am happy. Now, my plan had been to walk back to where I had seen a shoarma grill the night before, but when push came to shove, and as I had not had a bite to eat since breakfast, my stomach said RIBS!
So I dressed and went to the restaurant for a repeat helping. But although the food was as good, the service was poor as there was only one girl on, and she did her best, but some had to wait an hour for their food. Should have had the shoarma after all I think.
I am shattered, I go back to my room, put on the radio, and climb into bed. I am woken at a quarter past ten with Jools calling me asking if I was OK. Yes, just tired. We chat quickly, and I go back to bed.
Friday.
I sleep in until half six, then lay in bed as I listen to the birds sing and smokers cough outside. But, get up sweet prince, for today you go home to be with your princess! I have another shower, pack, check out, load the car and go back inside for breakfast. Bread rolls and sprinkles, like what else is there to have in Holland?
OK, to work! The usual drive to Ijmuiden, alongside the canal and the fish docks. It is still a real working town, maybe the fish comes from elsewhere in the world, frozen, but they know what to do with it. And the smell of fish hangs over the town.
Work goes well, I do the jobs I need to do, meet with people, make phone calls and set my out of office message. At half eleven, that is it, the start of the journey home and the three day weekend. This means taking the motorway to the airport, and the perplexing system of interchanges around Schipol, which means you seem to go by it three times before you are actually allowed in. I have three hours before my flight, so I am not stressed. The car is checked in, then begins the route march to the departure terminal, and then to security and then to the gate. Saying that, I did have a gate near the centre of the hub, so according to the sign it was an 8 minute walk.
Halfway there is the Irish pub. I say pub, its just an area of the airport done up to look like a pub, but it serves good beer, and a beer and plate of nachos is €10. All you have to do is find somewhere to sit. I find a place at the bar, and behind me a party of Scousers seem to be having a stag do at the airport: Hey boys, Amsterbloodydam is out there!
I make the nachos and two pints vanish, so go to find the gate. The plane is delayed by nearly an hour, but I sit at the gate, checking my twitter feed in case I am offered a ticket for the game on Monday. A faint hope, but still hope. And it is hope that gets us all in the end.
We all squeeze on the flight, and thanks to the beer, I fall asleep right away. We must have taken off, as I wake up as we are over Essex and I recognise the industrial estates around Thurrock. We land safe and sound, rush off the aircraft to get through immigration. I have 45 minutes to catch the quarter to five train. I might just be lucky. I have to wait for my case, at least it arrives!, then rush to the station only to see a train leaving the station. I have eight minutes to wait. And as always seems to way, once it arrives, the journey seems to go on forever, and waiting at each station seems like it has taken forever.
But I get to the station with 7 minutes to spare, four by the time I am on the platform. The train stops right by me on the platform, so I get on, put my cases in the rack and stand in the corridor as all seats are full, but I am on the train.
People get off at Ebbsfleet, and I get a seat. At Ashford more get off, and I move seats so I can chat to an interesting looking chap, a WW2 airman, who did 32 years service. He had some fine tales of far off lands, and much derring-do.
He gets off at Folkestone, so I am all alone, with just the views over the Channel as we emerge onto The Warren and then run alongside Samphire Hoe. Through Dover and round Buckland upto Guston Tunnel, climbing all the time and finally to Martin Mill, where Jools is waiting for me to take me home. We are both tired and hungry, so she drops me off and then goes to the chippy for a couple of large cod and chips. Just what the doctor ordered.
Outside it was a wonderful golden evening, the clouds parted and bathed the village in warm sunshine, whilst the farmer tried to ahrves the hay in the field below. He was still working away at half eleven. But by morning, it was all in and bagged.
Time for bed.
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