Only, this time, I wasn't going to London, I was going to Ashford so I could catch a Eurostar from there. It is a fine morning, and the last thing I feel like doing is going to on a train, taking 14 hours out of my working week to have a one hour business meeting. Hoever, I have been summoned!
Jools drops me off in Folkestone, I have to order a single to Ashford and a single back from Ebbsfleet, as I will have to get off there to return to Folkestone, where Jools should be waiting to pick me up. If all goes to plan.
After the fiasco of the last time I travelled on Eurostar, (not realising the Javelin I was on did not stop at Ebbsfleet and seeing it zoom past at 100mph) I made sure that I was getting on at Ashford, and all trains from Folkestone stop there! Genius.
The train is getting full, but I fight the crowds to get off and walk across the station to check in, go through immigration and security and then finding there were dozens of empty seats in the lounge, and time enough for a brew and a wad. I have a slice of fruit cake and a coffee, take a srat and do some people watching, especially the main in a RAFA blaizer, who is feeding and watering his wife/partner. They seem very happy in travelling, and in truth, so am I.
The train is approaching, so we are allowed down onto the platform, go to the places marked on the platform where the numbered carriages will stop. The doors line up, so once opened we climb on board, and I see my reserved seat is right next to a thick pillar, so I decide to take a free seat with a clear view, so I can watch the countryside roll by.
We zoom along to Folkestone, then slow to a trundle through the tunnel yard and into the blackness. The onboard manager tells us there is only one bore open, so there is a speed restriction. So, I lay back and close my eyes as we make our way under the sea to France.
It is an incredible thing, that I was on a train, caught in Kent, and the next stop was to be Calais; no boats, no ferries, just a tunnel under the sea. And those lines will take you all the way to through Europe, Russia and into China; imagine what that journey would be like!
Anyway, we emerge into some French sunshine, the fence at the tunnel patrolled by many policemen; no open boarder here either, then? We stop in Calais, then again in Lille, before powering on through the rolling Flanders countryside, peppered with fields dotted with poppies, dancing in the breeze. All over I see the towers of villages and urban churches, each one looks wonderful and I yearn to explore, but the train powers on into Belgium and to Brussels.
There is the usual chaos when leaving the platforms; not enough signs or information of onward travel. I at least have an idea of where I need to go, so walk down to the undercroft of the station, along the long corridor where there is a large departures board. I see there is a departure to Leuven at 11, in about 20 minutes, so amble over to platform 18, even though I was sure there was a quicker iner-city service I could catch, I was in no hurry.
There is a late platform change, of which there must have been an announcement, but I did not hear it, or understand it. But I see from a scree it had moved to the platform next to where I was. So it was a ltter of walking down the steps and along and back up to 16 just as my train arrived. It was a modern three car electric unit, comfortable, and with very good travel information with the next station displayed.
At one point we went through a station, and I kid you not, called Erps Kwerps, which amused me for several minutes. I saw that there would be about a dozen stops, making the short run into an hour and ten minute trip, but then again, I was in no hurry. I enjoyed the ride and listening to the people around me babbling in Flemish. Its all rather fun, shame I'm here to work, really.
I think I should go for a walk around the city, I mean, I know it by now, but then again not every day you get the chance to walk round a European city, taking in the sights and smells it has to offer, and maybe find a place to eat. I mean there are dozens of places to eat, most with tables and chairs on the traffic-free streets, all looking wonderful, but all of them offering glasses of ice cold and foamy beer, which looks tempting, but wouldn't be good to turn up at the meeting half cut.
I walk on, round the cathedral, which I really should go into one day, and back down to the office for the meeting. I am early, but there will be drinks and maybe lunch, maybe not though.As it turned out there was some food, and cans of cold drinks, so I am fine by the time the meeting starts, and so can concentrate and do my stuff.
I have a seat on the six o'clock train back to London, but I have to make sure I can get back to Brussels in time, so I leave the meeting at half three, walk to the station, even more tempted to a beer, but I know I can do that once I am at the main station in the city. Its an odd thing that in Belgium is that the local services are in more modern trains, and more comfortable carriages than the inter city trains, which alough long, rattle and shake at an alarming rate, but it does get to me Midi in half an hour, and some 30 minutes in which to find a bar before the check in desk is open.
Outside the station are three bars, I pick on and order a Leffe Royale: small or large I am asked. Large I say, pay my €6 and take the glass to a table outside and take in the view. A gentleman with an accordion is playing Romany tunes. But as Noël Coward would say, no gentleman would ever play the accordion. I give him a Euro and hope he's play further away. Over the hills and far away.
He moves on, the waitress brings out some peanuts for me, and all is well with the world.
I check in, go through immigration and security, and am confronted with a waiting area with all the air of a bus station. Oddly, apart from the buffet, there is a shop selling amazingly expensive chocolates. I ponder whether to pay €29 for a small box of champagne truffles, but decide life is good enough already.
We board the train, and I am in the plusher economy plus section, just three seats wide and seats made of leather. I have a window seat, with just about a clear view round the pillar. But I am happy.
We pull out on time, and soon enough a snack dinner is served; quiche with cous-cous and a bottle of wine. Not a big bottle, enough for two glasses big, but wine. And so eating, drinking, we pass back through Flanders in the golden light of early evening, seeing the fields already being harvested.
We stop at Lille again, and then it is a straight run to Calais, through the tunnel and back into Kent. Such a shame then that I have to go through Folkestone, Ashfromd and almost to the Thames at Ebbsfleet before I can get off the train, and wait for a connecting service all the way back down again. Just as well then that there is a train straight through to Folkestone in under ten minutes.
I watch the train leave onwards to London, then tell Jools I will be in Folkestone at half seven, and she will collect me. I have to stand to Ashford, but then its just a quarter of an hour to Ashford where most people get off, so I can get a seat and watch as I pass the scenery for the 4th time that day back to Folkestone.
We drive home back along the A20, taking the now slower way over Shakespeare what with the speed limitations, just dreadful to be going along a road at 40 when in the past you've done it at 70 in the past. But traffic is light, except for the Eastern European lorries that ignore the speed limit and thrash past us at full whack.
We arrive home, and get indoors at 20:01.34: I know this as I rush to the TV to watch the Wales game on TV, and it had just started. Jools made bacon butties and a brew, which is wonderful to munch on whilst the game playes out. Wales don't play well, but are level still at half time, but concede twich in three minutes at the start of the second half, and never recover. As soon as the game finished, I switch the TV off and head to bed. Phew, rock and roll.
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