Yesterday we drove to a little town called Ashford, which is 23 miles exactly away from Dover. That is where we stayed overnight. That was fine. They're building a suspension footbridge there, but that's about the only interesting thing that has probably ever happened there. Apart from that strange, fenced-off building that we came across and couldn't get to. Interesting.
Anyway, the next day came. It was approximately before time began this morning. I believe they called it "half past four... AM". I didn't understand the meaning of this term AM. I thought it was to do with radios, but nay, apparently it's this thing called "morning" and it's bloody early. I was always under the impression that the day began when the sun was at its highest in the sky, not just breaching the horizon creating something called "dawn". What a strange and wonderful world we live in.
So, with the bright orange ball slowly tipping its way over the sight-lines, we drove down to Dover to catch the ferry. I don't think Dover is appreciated as much as it should be. It's a wonderful, historical, boaty place next to the sea. It's also got what I consider the most iconic piece of land in the entire world - the White Cliffs. I've never noticed this before, but it's also got a castle. Why on Earth we don't stop in Dover for at least a day and look at this castle, the Cliffs and the Bronze Age Boat I do not know. When I start planning trips, Dover will be the first place I go. Fucking Dover, what a masterpiece.
Oh, but before I continue, let me tell you about the most traumatic thing that has ever happened to me while being the passenger of a car. We were driving away from Ashford, and on the motorway were four seagulls just nibbling on a bit of garbage. They were fucking brave, these seagulls, because they refused to move. Hang on. Narrative time.
Jimmy: Hey guys, there's some good grub down here!
Terry: Aw man, do you think someone threw out some Maccy D's?
Jimmy: Even better, Terry. KFC.
Terry: Shit the bed!
Rupert: Uh... guys, you do know that KFC is made out of birds, right?
Terry: Shut it, Rupert.
Jimmy: Yeah, shut it, Rupert.
Rupert: Uh... lads, there's one of those metal boxes that the land mammals drive coming straight towards us.
Jimmy: We'll have to abandon this delicious feast!
Terry: Nah, just give it a minute. They'll slow down for us. We're the kings of the road.
Rupert: They're not slowing down!
Terry: Listen, Rupert, we came down here to get some grub and we're not going to let any of those stinking land mammals take it, alright?
Rupert: It's too close now!
Jimmy: He's right, Terry! We need to scarper!
Terry: Alright, fine, just one more bite.
Jimmy: There's no time!
*The other birds fly off, Terry waits until the last second before taking flight*
Terry: What did I tell you? Nothing to -
*Kah-clunk*
Jimmy: Terry!
*The bird hits the windscreen and rolls over the roof, presumably collapsing onto the road. The other birds flock next to their fallen comrade.*
Jimmy: Terry, mate, are you alright?
Terry: No light... life fading...
Jimmy: Hang in there, lad!
Terry: Tell the kids what happened here today. Don't let my foolishness go without reason.
Jimmy: Terry...
*Terry dies in Jimmy's wings. Three years on, and Jimmy, Rupert and their new friend Buck spot a tasty morsel in the road*
Buck: Cor, look at that! Let's be 'avin' yer!
Jimmy: Buck, no... we can't go down there. It's too dangerous.
Buck: What's wrong with the pair of yer?
Rupert: Our friend Terry died here three years ago...
Jimmy: We haven't eaten off a road since.
Buck: Oh it's perfectly safe. Nothing's even there! Well I'm going.
Jimmy: Buck, no!
*Buck flies down to the road, starts nibbling on the tasty morsel and is immediately crushed by a falling satellite*
Jimmy: Didn't see that one coming, to say the least.
Rupert: Come on, let's go to the rubbish heap behind KFC. I bet all of the false orders were thrown away tonight!
I should write children's novels. They'd love 'em.
We were then chaperoned onto a giant metal box that would basically drift into France at its earliest convenience. Upon waiting to be shoved into this steel cage I can happily say that I know why people become racist. The driver in front of us was Indian... or Pakistani. The logistics aren't important. All I know is that he smoked, wore chav clothing and was a fucking nosey arsehole. Everything about this man, the way he kept his car and just everything else just made me want to hate him more. I found myself becoming patriotic. In fact, I became so patriotic, ironically as I was about to leave the country, that I found myself looking at a lout and thinking, "Look at that fine young British gentleman. Close-cut hair, tank top. Yup, that's where it's at. Go on you, have a smoke, you deserve it." I then mentally slapped myself for complementing a lout and being racist towards that foreign motherfucker. He thinks that he can just stick our badge on his ill-gotten car, but then speak his native tongue! How dare he! Fuck, I'm doing it again. Dukey, I now know exactly how you feel.
Anyway, enough racism and more... racism. I'm sorry, but it just is racism. Not yet though, first, patronage. Which is as bad as racism.
It was about 6 in the morning, which meant time hadn't begun yet, but I had been awake for just over an hour now, which meant that I was starving. We found the food court and decided that a full English was in order. We were allowed 7 items, which was easy pickings because there were only 8 items to choose from. How you were meant to build up 10, I don't know, but meh. Anyway, the choices were clear. Fried bread, fried egg, sausage, bacon, beans and ... hash browns! THERE WERE HASH BROWNS! I know! And she gave me two rashers of bacon, cheeky cheeky. It truly was a brilliant breakfast. I also don't know why more people don't employ the use of the Cumberland sausage, because it's just about the best sausage you can eat.
We soon found ourselves on the smoking deck. It should probably be called the viewing deck, or the poop deck or something, but instead it shall be called the smoking deck because it's the only place you can smoke. The sunlight was bouncing off the waves, glistening as we sped away from the port of Dover. What a wonderful sight. Beachy head was in the distance, the white cliffs were out on full display. It looked absolutely marvellous. I maintain that it is the most beautiful piece of land in the entire world. I stared at the cliffs for what seemed like an age and all I could think was that this holiday was a pretty damn good idea.
And then we arrived in France.
I saw Calais' grey cliff faces and dull beaches and I instantly missed England. Why did we have to come to this squalor of a country? This great, smelly armpit of Europe. France is good at doing one thing - keeping the French in it. France also has a brilliant road network. Do you want to know why France has a good road network? Because the French don't use it. There wasn't a soul on these roads. The French are so arrogant that they can't even leave their own shitty little towns.
I have one question though. What the hell does "Rappel" mean?
We arrived many many many many many many hours later at the place that I'm in now. It's nice here, got a brilliant view of the mountains and it's close to all of the English people. Aside from the fact that all of the English people are back at home in England because it's not holiday season just yet. God damn it.
Oh well, this week can only get better. I'm teaching the lout how to speak French properly so that I don't have to. Bingo.
WOW.
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