Wednesday 7th November 2018

It all began when Jen had her eyes lasered.

Not much to worry with that is there, but the lasering creates debris, apparently. No matter how much you pay.

And then there is Bet. Jen's Mum, who is 99 at the weekend, has gone a bit doolally the last week, and has not had any sleep in week, and is seeing all kinds of visions and hallucinations, thinking she is a Swizz national, no really, and generally been up all night gibbering away at things which almost certainly not there.

Jen had booked a trip to France for her and Jools's brother's partner, Jane, but Jen didn't feel safe enough to drive, and Jane could not drive due to her ankle problems. Could I go and drive?

Well, it would mean that I could replenish my Belgian beer collection, and was a day out; so why not?

So, it was arranged, and as predictable as the tides, John was going to come along too, so was going to be a jolly boys outing, and make no mistake.

We got up as normal, had coffee and breakfast, so Jools could drop me off in Whitfield at quarter past seven. John arrived twenty minutes later, and Jane half an hour after that. Sylv was going to look after Bet, Bet who was still jabbering away in the front room, and Sylv looked like death having had to sit up and listen to her. Jen was OK, though shaid she was looking forward to sleeping in the car. But John was coming.....

Jen's car is the old family car she had with Tony, a Ford Galaxy, which is OK, but is a bit of a bus, but then can carry a lot of wine, which was why we were going.

We piled in and headed out into the chaos that is rush hour combined wich scheel run. Traffic through Whitfield was solid, but was moving, so we inched to the A2 then tore down to the docks with Jen berating me for treating the old car bad.

We arrived at the port, went through French immigration, British immigration before being pulled over by customs, for whom Jane worked for until last year, so they had a fine chat whilst they pretended to search our car.

We drove on to wait in line to bard the ferry, but not enough time to visit WH Smiths or Burger King, not that we were that hungry anyway. We board, but being outside school holidays the ferry was only sparsely filled, plenty of room to sit and spread out.

The only downside was that a gale was blowing outside and the sea was looking pretty darn angry. Indeed the captain warned us twice about the rough conditions ahead, but in the end, the large size of the Bride of Britain and its marvelous stabilisers meant that we hardly felt any waves the whole crossing, but it would be different on the return trip.

At least in France the rain had stopped, meaning the run up to Adinkerke was pretty uneventful, up the route I used to take when I was working in Oostende last year.

Adinkerke is the first town over the border in Belgium from France. It has a collection of tobacco and booze shops, that thrive on the now non-existent border between the two countries. There is an unofficial cartel between the ferry companies, the tunnel and shops in Calais meaning that all tobacco prices are just about the same. Now, my understanding is that in the EU prices should be the same, but not so, as over the border in Belgium, tobacco is near half the price it is in France, and a fifth of what it is at home. Or something like that. Anyway, it is more than worth taking a day trip to Belgium for some baccy and wine, which is why we are here.

So, we park outside the largest of the shops, and we go in. I buy replacement crates for the ones I bought last time and had drunk through the summer. John buys is tobacco pouches, Jen buy some coffin nails, and Jane. Well, Jane ponders what to buy.

Jane does buy me a portion of fries from the booth opposite the shops, which I munch we drive out of the town back onto the motorway and back into France.

I remember a friend of mine, you again Tony, saying how marvelous it was that in an hour of driving from Dover we could be in the third country of the day. This is true. And what amazes me is that crossing this invisible line, language changes, food choices change. As so does the mobile phone service provider.

We stop at Calais Vin so I can get boxes of pink fix for Jools and I, and check on the special bottle of Belgian beer they have. I get two 75cl bottles of Chimay Blu Grande Reserve, because, well, it keeps.. If I don't drink it.

We do one final stop at a warehouse where Jen gets her wine, and all around are immigrants sleeping under bridges and walking beside the road. I say all around, I suppose we saw a dozen of them, and lets not forget they are just looking for a better life, God know whey they think they will get in in Britain. As they are all trying to cross the Channel, stowing away in lorries. Of course, in the event of a no deal, France could just let the immigrants on ferries for Kent to deal with. They say they won't, but in the event of a no deal, anything could happen.

She buys her wine, we lad the car, now very low on its springs, and drive the 5 minutes to the port and get through immigration, security and check in.

We arrive at the quayside and there is no ferry; we made such good time we had half an hour to wait for it to arrive, we watch the earlier one depart, quickly shrinking as it left the harbour.

In about twenty minutes the Pride of Canterbury arrives, docks and disgorges its passengers and traffic. We wait some more and then are let on.

If anything this ferry was even emptier than the outgoing one, but smaller. Which is an important detail, as once we leave the dock and the harbour, the full force of the gale strikes the side of the ship, and it gently rocks from side to side. I mean, it wasn't that bad, but bad enough to make Jane feel poorly. I walked to the shop just to look round, and weave my way along the wide gangways.

Jen, John and I play some cards, so the trip quickly passes, arriving in Dover just after dusk, and once inside the breakwater the ferry stops rolling. We had to wait an again to get off, sitting as the ship struggled to get square onto the linkspan, and be declared safe.

Jen drove and dropped my and my purchases outside the house. Rain started falling gently again as I carry the boxes inside, pause to feed the cats and make a quick brew before I prepare the ingredients for pasta carbonara.

Jools arrives home, I am about to start cooking, and in 20 minutes the meal and garlic bread is done. Again we toast our good fortune and tuck in.

And that was the day; three countries, lots of booze bought, and now home with the wind and rain swirling around outside.

Must be a Wednesday.