The van arrived at our cottage on a Sunday lunchtime. It was a Luton which was meant to be dedicated to us but the company had made a few changes with times and dates and then when it did arrive it had a big pallet with an unknown person’s possessions neatly packed in the bottom taking up what appeared to be a third of the van. The lovely driver George (who spoke Romanian, Spanish and French but no English) assured us that ALL of our stuff would fit in. He didn’t want to eat anything and only took a cup of black coffee, then worked very hard, alongside The Man, me and a few of our neighbours. I was astonished at how fast and efficient George was. At the end of the packing he then had another cup of black coffee and informed us that he was driving to Glasgow to drop off the pallet! He informed us that his boss had not arranged things well . . . an understatement I should think. We waved him on his way and confirmed that we would meet him the following Wednesday down in the south of France near Carcassonne.
After he left we had twenty-four hours to clear our remaining belongings out of the cottage to neighbours or the local tip leaving an Ikea pull out sofa bed in one bedroom and a pile in the middle of the room downstairs to be collected by a family member. Good old Joe! Some furniture was to remain in the cottage. I like to clean up before I leave a place but this time it was impossible. We’d been severely flooded three times in the previous two months and I just couldn’t face it. The Landlady informed us she was completely renovating and ‘fumigating’ the place, starting on the 1st February. Not quite sure she had the correct word with ‘fumigating’ I hope she just meant a deep clean. . . hmm 🤔
We slept the last night in our little cottage already exhausted and we hadn’t even begun our journey. Around 5.30 am I sat bolt upright in bed and asked The Man, ‘Where are our passports?’ I have never seen him move so fast and the words that came out of his mouth are unprintable…(for my blog anyway). ’ F***k!’ followed by many expletives, ‘They’re in the f*****g van in my chest of drawers! What the f**k are we going to do now?’
I quickly texted the boss of the removal company explaining what had happened. He wasn’t that helpful, first he informed us that we were 500 kgs overweight and that it would cost us double the amount of the original quote for him to get across the border with our load! We had not a leg to stand on. . .(I was still in bed anyway but. . .) not a leg and not many chairs to sit on so we had to agree. He then said that George would meet us that night in Dover. We were leaving from Folkestone, going through the tunnel, but I was prepared to drive ANYWHERE to get our passports! He didn’t know what time George would arrive as he was coming from Glasgow (yes we knew that and thank goodness he DID have to drive to Glasgow before heading to France, otherwise . . . who knows.
Eventually we left the cottage, the car complete with roof box packed like I’ve never seen it packed before. You could not have pushed, squeezed, fiddled another article, object or doohicky in there. (Don’t ask me what a doohicky is, I just wanted to use the word). We drove to the Hotel in Folkestone closest to the tunnel arriving around 7pm. We ordered food and wondered what we would do until midnight and could we even stay awake to drive to Dover.
Good old George, he called us around 9pm and said he was in our hotel carpark. Amazing. We rushed out to greet him but he wasn’t there. A few texts, dropped pins and a location photo later we could see he was around the corner in a deserted carpark at a closed garden centre.
‘Attend George, attend pour nous!’ I sent a frantic text, we leapt in the car and google mapped our way to the van. Relief all around when George threw up the tarpaulin cover, dropped down the back panel and there stood The Man’s chest of drawers. He (The Man) climbed up and retrieved our passports from inside the top drawer. It was the best feeling. . .
Click on the arrow beside the slide show below to see more images.
We have arrived, and our names are on the post box. This is just the beginning of our new adventure. Our small town has a great deal to offer. A small lake, an entry to the Voie Verte ( a wonderful cycle path covering many miles in France), trails through the vines and of course a bakery. . . yum! We also have a butcher, a grocery store, the doctor, the chemist and a couple of cafés, also as a choice of restaurants. I cannot wait to discover more of the area. It’s early days, we have been here for just three week and I’ve already met a couple of writers, joined some local associations and even attended the AGM of one of them! I’ve written very little since we arrived (for obvious reasons) but I’m looking forward to being very productive in February. Look our for a cover reveal and news of Loose Ends publication!
Ninette Hartley Writer 